Silent Scream
by T.L. Arens
Summary: G1. Sequal to 'Devil's Dance'. Autobot city slowly recovers from damage and death. Optimus and Rodimus struggle against depression, unknowing another enemy preys on what's left of their sanity.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: WARNING! STRONG LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE (you know, the good stuff). Parents not wanting their children exposed should read the story first.  
This story is the second version of the same story written back in 1996. While the words have been, for the most part, rearranged, the story has not. However, readers of the first version might be delighted to know this version is longer and answers a few questions that might have stemmed from **Devil's Dance**.  
Much thanx and luv goes to Jayd who taught me how to play solitaire!  
Goodness to you on your journey and may the Matrix remember you.

T.L. Arens

TRANSFORMERS: Silent Scream

Earth Date: Late March 2038

Rusti sat at her bed half listening to Silicon Crosshatch, a Neo Flash group-one of several pieces of music Rodimus dreaded to hear. Neo Flash was notorious for its 'twelve-inchers' (extra long versions), few words and heavy instrumentals such as saxophone, didgeridoo, the synthesizer and electrical instruments, particularly the keyboard and some guitar. She liked Silicon Crosshatch for their heavy use of the synthesizer and keyboard, but loved Fresh Infusion for Togward Kadrin's voice.

Into the autumn water I cast my wishes.  
The pains I bear are the ripples along its surface.  
They freeze in time like the color in your eyes.

The blood of my soul remains frozen even in summer nights.  
I pray for the fireplaces in the winter.   
I pray for the healing of the rain.  
I search your soul for an answer  
but you are lost just like me.  
You take my hand-at least I am not alone.

But the pain is still mine-you can't take it from me, I can't give it away.  
Let the Autumn water wash me clean of pain.   
Let me hear the rain.  
Forsake the summer nights,  
Embrace the Autumn.  
I need the rain.

Rusti hit the repeat button on her stereo and raised the volume as though trying to drown her soul into the melody. She closed her eyes a moment, feeling not just the music, but the words, repeating them as though they were sacred. The song moved on and once again she cast her eyes upon her scrap book. A page filled with photographs and scribbled notes displayed a part of her life she no longer remembered. The whole scrap book was like that. All the photographs she could not identify, all the hand-written letters she had gathered, even an old dirty book cover spanning a two-page space resided in the book. Every attempt she made to remember odds and ends, even fragments failed. Eighteen months worth of memories fled from her like snowflakes drifting in a warm wind.

The accident last November cost her not just personal memories, but a set back in school and Rusti had to retake four classes. Ironically, one such class was psychology.

The song ended and started to play again.

Rusti rearranged a set of newspaper clippings and news printouts from the Internet. Next to that page she had already pasted bits of fabric from the nightgown she wore just after the accident.

A dull pain hit her breast bone and Rusti stopped breathing a moment. She bowed over and tried to fight it off. Her eyes watered and her shoulder muscles contracted hard. Her ears rang then a moment later, the attack abated. No one knew what it was. Doctor Cynyr insisted it was her imagination and there was nothing he could do for a hypochondriac.

Rusti suspected she knew, but did not know who to tell, or how to prove it.

She turned the page and fingered a photograph of Rodimus. He had been gone for four months now. He didn't even do so much as tell her good-bye. He just left. Whatever exchange of words he and Optimus had, at least Optimus was able to talk him out of self-destruct. Roddi was going to just let himself bleed to death. Rusti did not know what horrible things he did to rub his own conscious to the point of self-destruction, but it must have been one of the worst skeletons he would have to bear.

Much of the events last October/November were not open to discussion and she dared never to ask Optimus. His emotional and mental condition deteriorated to the point where he almost could not do his job any longer. He did not sleep and tended to berate himself more than usual. It was as if he expected to be punished at every opportunity.

She often felt his physical pain. That's where the attack came from. But no one wanted to believe it and Rusti chose not to discuss it further.

---------------------------------------

Rodimus' smile reflected demented pleasure. His cold blade sank deep into Optimus Prime's body. It twisted metal, sliced lines and spilled precious fluids over Rodimus' hand. He delighted in his handiwork.

Pain tore into Optimus' body, spiking in his chest, pounding down his legs, hammering his cranium. Prime struggled against ungiving bonds. He jerked at energon chains holding him fast against the wall while shackles clasped tightly round his arms and legs.

The blade slid out and shot back in. One wound, another followed another . . . DON'T SCREAM!

Rodimus yanked the knife out and jabbed Prime's right shoulder. What pleasure! Metal gave way like so much organic material. The blade touched an infrastrucural rod and could not go further. Again!

He jerked it out, drunk in pleasure from Prime's blood flow. More! He sliced into Prime's left hip.

Blood drained from the Senior Prime like a sacrificial lamb. Make it stop!

Rodimus! Rodimus, why? Why?

Darkness took Rodimus' mind. Wrapped in the confines of madness, he drank in its wickedness, tossing his sanity to the solar winds.

It was the fault of the Quints. They committed unspeakable evils.

No.

It was the Hate Plague. See that? All the glowing red wounds marred his metallic skin. Infection festered over his body as though he were a walking corpse.

It was gross.

No, wait! No, the Hate Plague took place several years ago. That's right. The Matrix cured the galaxy of the pan-dimensional virus. Yes, that was . . . oh Primus on High.

Oh Primus, no.

The Matrix.

THE Matrix.

Not Vector Sigma. Not some root program.

It was a dirty truth.

Bitter memories flickered across his processors like poisoned energon. A virus, near-sentient in character, devoured parts of the Matrix-at least those parts with which Optimus was familiar. The Matrix itself did not know what was going on or why. It flashed through memories ages and ages ancient for any shred of explanation. But It found no peace.

And Optimus and Rodimus suffered right with it.

What sins did they commit to reflect the Virus' own evils? Optimus did not wish to consider it.

Neither of them were actually victims here. Neither could claim innocence.

He was insane. He lost his mind . . . all gone like the autumn leaves in a fierce Oregon winter storm.

And everyone was so sorry for it. All those poor dead people. The Humans, the Autobots . . . all those immigrant aliens who came to Earth for a better life and what did Prime give them? Terror.

In the bowels of a replacement factory on Cybertron, Optimus walked down the dark corridor toward his judgment. He murdered. He committed a breach of absolute trust. Misuse of power, misuse of authority . . . and his prayers remained unanswered.

The audience's whispers traveled about the arena, condemning him. He needed to be recycled because his deeds were too abominable.

He stared into the abyss of nonexistence. No absolution. His sins were unforgivable.

Well, he wasn't really the Chosen, anyway. Everyone knew it was Rodimus all along. Right? Optimus was too old, too narrow-minded, too set in tradition to lead the Autobots forward into a new era. There was no logic for prolonging his miserable life. He had nothing to live for, anyway.

Rodimus seemed sorry for it. He said nothing as the two embraced a final time. Then Rodimus shoved-

Prime shot straight up, shouting to no one present. There was his desk and the silent dark of his office. His monitor lighted just that area where he sat. It waited for instruction. Mounds of digipads sat impatiently for his personal attention.

He involuntarily shut down, most likely without realizing his systems were going offline by themselves.

With some effort, Prime stood and leaned against his desk.

Apathy and depression mounted against him day by day so that even the simplest projects seemed insurmountable. He was useless.

He embraced himself as darkness churned inside, taking his life a little at a time. Nothing was wrong with him physically, or at least that's what First Aid and his assistants kept reminding him. But it did nothing to comfort him. Optimus sometimes swore he was a walking corpse.

A soft bleep called over his personal line. That was unusual, since the line was something he scarcely used unless it was to talk to Rusti from Mars. Prime hesitated to answer. It would most likely be someone who desperately wanted something from him badly enough to call him on this line. They all wanted his attention, his approval. They competed to impress him with deeds or ideas.

One ring.

Second ring.

Thir-

He accepted the call(-dammit!)

"Yes?" His voice did not reflect his feelings. Someone else took his time and Optimus felt robbed of much needed privacy.

"Good morning! Uh, that is, is it morning there?"

Prime forced himself to face the huge monitor on the left side of the room. He felt like a bug, meticulously examined under a microscope. The screen was too big, he realized. Everyone on the planet could watch every single moved he made and point out his every mistake. What idiot would allot for such a large screen? He wanted to hide and never be seen again.

The virtual visitor beamed a gentle warmth into the room that melted most of Prime's misgivings about the call. Optimus offered Dr. Paul Gates a slight smile.

"Paul." How pathetic! He sounded more relieved than glad to see the scientist. He berated himself for displaying such improper emotions.

Doctor Paul Gates, who had never aged a day in over fifty years held up a blue sheet scrawled over with technical drawings of robotic figures and plots for construction. "Got those 'specs you wanted!" Gates' broad smile was outdone only by the gleeful tone of his voice. Then the sheet disappeared and Paul's face turned white, his eyes shot wide. "I'm sorry! It's three in the morning, isn't it? I keep doing that-I've been on Cratis for so long I can't seem to compensate for space-time between here and Earth." Paul shrugged with a fretting smile, "well, can't seem to do that for any other place, for that matter."

Optimus forced a smile, but he really did not know what to say in response. Paul was a very easy-going person. He was the brilliant scientist without the annoying absent-mindedness. Paul made mistakes but laughed at himself over them. Optimus felt comfortable around him and the distress in his demeanor lessened a little. It was nice to talk with someone who really wasn't looking for anything from him.

The corners of Paul's mouth tightened a little. "I, um . . . there's been a bit of hear-say something about your consideration to negotiate with the Quintessons?"

Prime watched as Paul left his monitor for a table toward the back of his room. The doctor poured himself a cup of coffee, or whatever similar drink they offered organics on Cratis. The Autobot leader waited until Paul settled back in his chair, sipping the hot fluid and dabbed his chin with a napkin. Prime's own expression became impassive. "I have taken time to read over Magnus' and Kup's reports regarding the battle on Pluto this last fall." The rest of his explanation included a serious failure on his part as a leader-as THE Autobot leader. Optimus glanced from the over-sized screen to his desk and wished he were sitting there, talking with Paul through his monitor. "I was not aware we had so many casualties. They were caught by surprise with new technologies . . . I have not been able to finish reading the reports, but it appears the Quintessons owned the Terrocons and had three new Decepticons we've never encountered before. I do not have all the details."

Paul did not mean to interrupt Optimus, but he felt his comment necessary: "Prime, allow me a little advice when negotiating with Quintessons: Don't. I believe it was Ambassador Koontah who said the Quints redefine the phrase 'mendacious larcenist.' You can't trust them any further than my ex-wife. She tried to kill me. They won't be quite that nice with you."

Prime sifted through Paul's words, but the more he considered it, the more his mind was made. The Autobot leader shook his head. "There has been too much destruction already. Quintesson ambassador Cleprachaun has offered to negotiate. I . . . I have to give it a try." Now he felt worse than ever. Where was that steadfast warrior? Whatever happened to his resolve? Devoured by Darkness, no doubt. "I have asked a disinterested third party to intervene on our behalf. I . . . do not personally wish to confront the Quintessons." Prime turned away in shame.

Gate's face contorted like a high school student struggling with calculus, "uh, you think that a peace agreement sounds like a good idea?" The doctor questioned Prime's logic and he was willing to bet he was not the first. He had not talked with either Ultra Magnus or Rodimus, but he believed they might share his concerns. He watched as Prime continued to stare away from the screen. He heard some of the events regarding the Virus, though he knew there was more to the story than what went around. News always forgoes all the little details.

It hurt to see Optimus Prime shrunken into a mere shadow of the person he used to be. There was no light in his optics. And Paul swore even Prime's colors were greyed down. But over the televisor, he could not be sure. The scientist scribbled on the back of a piece of scrap paper, scratching out badly-drawn stick figures with ugly faces and writing his ex-wife's name under them. "You know, Optimus," he said after a moment, "I'd like to have a discussion sometime regarding your idea of a good time. I remember that time when you decided to confront Torq III alone and how later you told me you almost became one of his minions. Do you remember that? I didn't think it was as simply accomplished as you made it sound. You need a hobby."

Prime's mood lessened a bit and with the change of mood came a bit of strength. He even felt better about facing the large viewing screen, recalling how Rusty always liked to watch TV on it. A slight smile even made his head tilt down just a little. "I do. I remember you said you used bobby pins, paperclips and your girlfriend's earrings to reconnect power supply and communications on your computer."

Dr. Gates laughed heartily and his cheeks reddened just a bit. "You would have to bring that one to the forefront, Prime. But I'm willing to bet you couldn't do that with Tele-Tran now, or Max for that matter."

"I don't wear earrings." It wasn't until he already said it that Prime realized he made a joke. It was accidental only because he thought of Rusti who sometimes left her earrings, lipstick or necklace at his desk after doing her homework.

Paul studied Prime's optics. His bright smile faded with the passing moment. Usually if the Autobot leader was making a joke-no matter how subtle, he would usually add some kind of physical gesture with it. But Optimus merely stared at the floor of his office, recently carpeted to cover stains in the metal plates that, strangely enough, would not come clean. Sadness burdened the Autobot so that his frame slumped under the terrible weight of grief and guilt. Paul ached for him. Optimus used to be so enthusiastic when they worked on a project together. Now he did not respond even to the finished specs. "What's wrong, Optimus?"

The Autobot leader dimmed his optics in self-disgust. Paul saw through his emotionless facade. Or maybe he was doing a poor job of masking his weariness and apathy. But Paul was someone he knew he could trust. The scientist was personable without being nosy. And often when Prime revealed classified information, Paul always kept it to himself. So once again, Optimus chose to trust him: "I . . . I can't really say," he confessed. "Sometimes I am confused. Other times I forget things or there is a sense of irresolution. As if . . . I should have stayed dead."

Paul remained respectfully quiet, watching his friend from a planet four light years from Earth and wishing he were there in person. He wanted to help but at this point, all he had to offer were words. "Is this because of the Matrix?" he asked cautiously, "what about Rodimus? Have you heard from him? Or have you discussed your . . . " careful, he thought, say it carefully, " . . . concerns with Ultra Magnus?"

Prime's strength died and he sat on the floor. His heart hurt. Not the laser core, his heart. Rodimus was as sore a subject as his garden, as sore a subject as -Primus, don't use her pet name. It could cause a breakdown, a neural crash. First Aid warned him that his neural pathways were breaking down and any amount of emotional overload would push him over the edge, permanently incapacitate him.

Optimus did not want to admit that he had not spoken with his Second on a personal level for several months. Roddi evaded that part of their transactions as much as he. Their conversations were always couched in business and city subjects. It became a tacit rule between them that to ask how the other was feeling was not allowed. Keep it light and shallow and things will be just fine.

"No," he finally answered Paul. "Magnus has been very busy of late. The last thing he needs is another burden. Rodimus is . . . We haven't talked." Prime stared away for a moment. What was the question? Something about Magnus, wasn't it? Why was he talking about Roddi? His optics drifted to his desk whereupon sat three piles of digipads. Just looking at them made him weary. "So much to do," he muttered to himself. No, the question was about the Matrix. That was it. "As for the Matrix . . ." But now he forgot what the direct question was. And rather than guess his answer, Prime decided to worm his way out with a typical answer: "I don't know." Pathetic. He was sure even Sludge could see through that excuse.

Paul did not reply right away. He sought the Autobot's expression for his answers but found naught but dissatisfaction. Optimus either lied, or simply could not answer the question. But, the scientist reminded himself, depression does that. The mind wonders and forgets. "Prime, have you discussed this with Rodimus . . . your despondency, I mean?"

Prime hesitated, dreading whatever tongue lashing Paul might set against him. "No."

Kindly enough, Paul said nothing. He gave Optimus all the time necessary. Someone had to listen. Optimus bore private pains no one needed to know and because of his secrecy, it required more than good intentions to draw that kind of information to light.

Paul knew but a few precious reasons for this steadfast defense system and permitted Prime all the emotional privacy he deserved.

But Optimus' mind ever returned to the sinister events in the previous autumn. Two months of torment both within and without and Optimus still could not understand how such a thing happened. The aftermath left a bitter taste in the mouths of supporters, both political and economical. Optimus knew he had much to account for, so much needed answering but he had no answers to give them. He could not explain why or how the national guard unit surrounding Fort Max were destroyed. He could not explain how the walls in Central City swallowed people alive. Nor could he explain why the street lights and sidewalks bled. The Virus displayed a power of the Matrix the likes of which neither Decepticon nor Human had the mental capacity to understand. Optimus understood it, not completely, for the Matrix was a power far greater than he imagined, but he knew in part some of its ability. For the Matrix was more than life from death. It was more than purity from contamination.

It was neither god nor super creature, but It was a power and life of Its own terms and now . . . now It was faulty. How does one explain that?

The deeds of the Virus plagued every living thing within its confines and worse than any, it touched its Bearers, leaving great emotional and mental scars.

Optimus dreaded shut down anymore. Evil dreams distressed him, tormenting his memories and sometimes inflicting a greater burden for the next day.

The Virus-wrought insanity burned his mind and shorted his logic and reasoning. But now that storm has passed, abandoning him to wallow in an emotional desert of emptiness. Optimus wanted to crawl into a crack in some distant dried riverbed and lie there until he died.

"Optimus?" Paul's voice filtered through the room, rousing the Autobot leader from his dismal self-rebuke.

Gates tried to smile cheerfully, but no amount of light-heartedness would filter into the shadowed room of Prime's office. The scientist drew a deep breath, "I know things haven't been easy for you of late. But I feel you must discuss the situation with either Rodimus or Magnus. If you don't get help, it will only grow worse. Depression doesn't go away like a battle wound. It lingers and if left untreated, becomes cancerous. You must do something about it."

Prime's optics dimmed, "I don't think anyone can help me, Paul." His voice fell quiet, shadowed like his office when the sun set behind the Cascades.

"You can't go on like this," Gates insisted as gently as he could.

"I don't know what to do." Prime thought he was going to smother. He forced himself to stare at Paul.

Those words seemed so final; as though Optimus was going to give up without a fight. Paul noticed how Prime's optics darkened. His great frame slumped slightly like an old man laden with the burden of many rocks upon his back. Paul lightly tapped the desktop with his pen, glided his fingers down its metal surface, flipped the pen and repeated the process several more times as the seconds ticked away between them. Finally he sighed, his breath came heavy as he tried to control the sound of his voice, for the question he was about to ask was of a nature he could not bear to consider himself: "Optimus . . . have you had thoughts of suicide lately?"

Optimus wanted to suppress the answer. He screamed inside. SHUT UP! DON'T ANSWER THAT! How could Paul ask such a question! No! Don't give it away! Don't look as if it were a good idea!

Dammit! But the truth prevailed because of who and what he was. Prime bowed his head in silent shame.

" . . . Yes."

---------------------------------------

"Resonna! Wait!" A masculine voice shouted above the milling of a hundred other teenage bodies compressed into a highschool hallway.

The object of the voice's attention, a slender sixteen year-old girl with sea grey eyes, spotted a young man of seventeen. She smiled, shaking her finger in reprimand as he approached, squeezing between three and four other people. "Cody, I hate that name. You know that!"

He grinned mischievously, brown eyes catching light of the afternoon spring sun. "I wanted to make sure I got your attention."

She returned his smile, a slight reproach in the corner of her eye. Rusti Witwicky closed her locker door after an exchange of books. "Well, you called me by the wrong name half way around the world, humiliated me in front of millions of people. Now you have to make an excuse for yourself before I leave for home."

Greydon batted his eyes innocently. "Homework. Got time?"

The girl flushed a bit, her eyes darting away. Although she had little to no memory of him, Rusti found she liked Cody. He was very gentlemanly and did not push her into doing anything she felt uncomfortable doing. If they knew one another before her accident, he said nothing of it. Rusti could not help but wonder and more than often she wondered if she should ask. There was that peechee folder in her scrap book. It said nothing of his name, but a few of the drawings across is surface matched the scribbles on a few of his own book covers. Rusti wanted to know, but felt torn between that knowledge and complicating her life with more things she should remember.

One step, one memory at a time, she kept reminding herself. At this point, she was still struggling with the Christmas year before last. She had photos of family and a visit from Jazz, but they were someone else's photos, someone else's memories.

The inter-city bus that served both Central City and Fort Max pulled to a stop in the EDC district which lay at the northern end of Fortress Maximus. Cody and Rusti waited while two EDC officers, three ladies and two other high school students disembarked. Cody automatically took on Rusti's books and she smiled, feeling a bit spoiled by such kindness.

"We haven't spoken in about three days, Rus. How goes it all?" he asked as they made their way down Trans Continent Road toward the cafeteria that served the EDC district and the small band of Head and Target masters.

She shrugged as her eyes scanned one side of the street then the other. Major reconstruction was a continuing process anymore and the girl wondered when everything was going to finally be finished. The city was badly damaged and crews worked in triple shifts. "Well, I still haven't heard from Roddi. I guess most people haven't. Optimus . . ." Here she frowned, "Optimus hasn't been very talkative, either. I mean, since I've been trying so hard to catch up, I really can't find a lot of time to check on him." Now that the thought of him touched her, Rusti felt her chest bleed on the inside. Grief touched her and she directed her eyes and pained expression away from Cody. It was not something he should see. No one would believe her.

"Hmm." Cody's voice trailed her back to the moment at hand, "I hear Optimus is still on the go-ahead with Fortress Zenith's final phase on Mars."

Rusti broke out laughing, "Ohmigod! Last Sunday he was so mad-they still haven't put the doors on! Optimus rattled on about it the rest of the day!" She paused, her voice now lowered with a bit more seriousness, "But with the new defense system still off line, I guess the doors are the last thing they're concerned with."

"Defense system?" Cody echoed.

"Yeah. They can't figure out why the system keeps breaking down like it does. Optimus wants to go back to Mars and oversee the last stages himself. But . . . but I don't think he's really . . ." she paused to look her companion in the eye, searching, perhaps, for a bit of comfort or encouragement. "I don't think he's well, Cody."

"Well, yeah. The Virus. It's still affecting him, I'm sure."

"No, I think there's more to it. I've seen him sometimes, as though the life were being drained out of him." She stared off into nowhere, now. The memory of his sight filled her heart with sadness, "like a walking corpse that has not been told the soul of the person has already left." She choked a little, her eyes burned and her throat constricted. "I don't know what I would do if he died, Cody." She could not tell him how often she thought she could feel that. Was that empathy, or simply her over-active imagination?

Silly girl, she told herself. Who do you think you are? You're just human, nothing special. You love him. That's all there is to it.

The two teens found the cafeteria fairly empty. A few people who recognized Rusti offered them a friendly wave while the high school students wove around tables into the kitchen.

Rusti held her breath and hoped the Head/Targetmasters had left a little ice cream. But the freezer stared back, empty as a vacated igloo.

Cody was more successful in his search. Rusty thought it must be masculine instincts-he found a fresh chocolate cake in another refrigerator. They helped themselves to good meaty slices and a can of Dr. Pepper for him, a Sprite for her.

The two commandeered a table next to a large window overlooking the inner courtyard where two mothers talked as one burped her newborn and the other kept a third eye on her toddler romping about the grass with a small dog. Rusti spread her homework across her side of the table, whipped out a calculator and tapped her head with a pen while she devoured the cake, nearly heedless of her company for the moment.

Cody watched her, eating more thoughtfully, careful not to allow one atom of a crumb to tumble from his fork. "How can you eat like that and stay so thin? I'd be a thousand pounds if I ate like this all the time."

Rusti's eyes nailed him with a generous sparkle, "Dinobot football. Sundays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays." She shrugged and a bit of guilt crossed her face, "or late at night when I can sneak out of bed during the summer."

"Heh!" He grinned broadly then realized what she meant. The girl had a bit of a daring side to her. He knew she was a bit audacious, but- "late at night, Rus? What, eleven, midnight?"

She shook her head and turned a page in her book. "Two, sometimes three."

"A.M.?" He blinked.

She shrugged. "Naughty, I know. But if Optimus were upset about it, he would have said something about it a long time ago. Besides, it irritates my folks. They can't say anything b'cause it's not illegal."

Cody rolled his eyes. "Your folks. You said something about an argument with your mom and Aunt Delphra, but that was before second period when we passed in the hall. You were kinda miffed about it."

Rusti's composure turned dark and the corners of her mouth turned down in displeasure. She devoured another wonderful bite of spongy chocolate cake, but the sudden turn of her mood did not allow her to appreciate its rich sweet flavor. "It's all a load of crap. They are constantly crawling up my backside to get me to leave Fort Max and move back to Central City! And when I ask them the reasons, they clam up tighter than Optimus. I don't know what the big deal is, Cody but I wish they'd leave me alone about it."

She turned her gaze back to the courtyard where the toddler occupied himself by running in a small circle. He laughed and ran around and around and somehow, Rusti knew what that must be like; going nowhere fast, thinking something was being accomplished when all the while the mind is spinning until balance is lost. That's what it felt like whenever she tried to chase down a memory, any memory of the last eighteen months.

"I'm not leaving Optimus here," she softly vowed more to herself than her companion. "No matter what little good I do him, I won't leave him here." She withdrew her stare with a resolute sigh and stabbed the remainder of her cake. "And I don't care what B.S. Delphra tries to cram down my throat. **I** decide whether I want to stay here or not, not the courts. If they make me move, I'll run away again."

"Whoa! Easy, Rusti! The whole world isn't ready to go to war with you." Cody sniggered and downed a bit of his Dr. Pepper. "They know they'd lose in a fair fight."

She grinned, but her eyes did not meet his. Rusti loved how he made her laugh. It made her realize how much more she missed Roddi's incessant teasing. Fort Max was not the same without him. "Sorry, Cody. It just bites at me because my parents seem to think I should be a dumb little girl old enough to do what everyone else is doing." Her own words hurt her. "But I'll never be like the rest of them-"

Cody reached across the table and squeezed her hand then let it go. "Well, I'm glad of that, Rusti. There'd be no Dinobot Football, misplaced drawing books or grapes and vanilla ice cream if you were like the rest of them."

Rusti blushed and stared out the window at the other end of the room. Out that way, south of the EDC District, traffic came and went. Autobots, Humans and aliens all went about their business in spite of the damaged city. The buildings and roadways in Fort Max were rarely quiet, anyway. "I need to be here." She murmured distantly and to herself.

"Why?"

Cody's abrupt question brought her back to the moment and she pinned him with questioning grey eyes. "I . . . I don't know," she answered like one suddenly waking from a dream.

A twinge Touched her and Rusti Listened intently. A coldness settled over the city, like a cloud passing over. She knew Blaster's comm buzzed with static.

One of the Aerialbots reported an unusual electrostatic 'hiccup' in the atmosphere that threw him off course.

Swoop lost his sense of balance for half a second.

Ultra Magnus experienced a moment of unbalance. Then it passed like the fading ripples in a pond. What it was, or could have been, Rusti could not tell and could not sense any trail that might be traceable by psychics.

"Rusti?"

"Hmm?" Her mind came back to Cody, blank as a sheet of paper when writing had been erased.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head, uncertain if she ought to share that information with him or not. Rusti was very uncomfortable about her senses. She knew not everyone could see or hear the things she did in Autobot city and so kept most of them to herself unless on some occasion Optimus Prime brought them up himself. It was nice that at least he sensed or thought he could hear distant voices in the walls or get chills in corridors where there is no wind, and no one else was around.

"Rusti," Cody's voice lowered so that only she could hear, "I know when something is bothering you. It's something other than your family. What is it?"

She shrugged and gave sudden interest in her mostly-eaten cake. "You'll laugh."

"No, I won't," Cody promised.

"Yes, you will. It's not for real."

"What?"

He wasn't going to give up easily. She sighed and decided to go ahead and place a bit of trust for him to pick at: "disturbances in the air. Things that aren't really there, but I can feel them. Things that go on around me without mine being there." Now she stared at him meaningly, as though she could see through him. "Sometimes I hear voices, arguments. But nobody is there. Not ghosts . . . more like . . . psychic projections."

He sat in silence, fingering the empty can of Dr. Pepper. "All over the city? Or just here?"

His question surprised her and Rusti felt better. "I'm not so sure."

"How far do your senses go?"

She shook her head again, her eyes remained glued to him. "I dunno. Never tested it." She blinked at Cody, amazed by his acceptance of things he could not see. He was 'geeky' by the standards of some; a bonafide bookworm. Cody was a cutie and Rusti thought it funny how girls fawned over him like ants on a fresh kill. But strangely enough, he chose to spend his time with her. Rusti could not figure out why. She always scared other guys off. She supposed they didn't like a girl who read at college level or talked about things like time continuum theories.

What she liked most about Cody was that he knew how to have fun. Earlier in the semester in Chem Lab, they exchanged notes behind the teacher's back, drawing nasty pictures of her. During an outside class experiment, Cody and Rusti re-rigged the chemistry set on the teacher's desk. Not that anything deadly happened, but a nasty smelling substance oozed all over Mrs. Aime's desk and she and Cody spent an hour in the principal's office. But when all was said and done, the two still believed the little stunt was worth it.

Cody snapped his books shut and gathered his papers. "Let's go do an experiment." he beckoned.

"On what?" she asked innocently, not moving from her spot.

"Your abilities."

She batted her eyes, doubtful. "How?"

He thought for half a second. "Well, let's find someplace private, first."

Rusti gazed at him out the corner of her eye, a bit suspicious. If he tried anything 'un-kosher', she decided she could easily introduce him to the cold metal plating of Max's flooring. "Science lab in the R & D Complex? Most of the staff have been on leave until they check and replace some of the wiring."

Cody grinned and swept up her books.

The room they picked stood dead quiet. Unused equipment cluttered counter tops and abandoned notepads lay with unread scribbles dating back to November. Rusti shuddered as a ghost-memory tried to surface and died. The sterilized scent of alcohol and other anti-bacterial and flammable agents caught in the girl's throat and she coughed a time or two and sipped her Sprite to dampen the sudden dryness in her throat.

Light from the outside world lit the room in greys and blues. It was far from cheerful, but Rusti and Cody both supposed the room could have been darker and there was a flashlight handy should the outside light fail too quickly.

Cody helped himself to a tour of the room while Rusti tried to read a notepad. The pad's owner struggled with a mathematical equation and wrote in strange script. A flash of numbers shot through her mind and the girl blinked as though physically hit. She flinched from the tablet and found Cody staring at her. "What?" she smiled sheepishly.

"You saw something, didn't you?" She opened her mouth to deny but he held his hand to cut her off, "Rusti, I know when you see things. I can tell." He glanced about and spotted a somewhat comfortable armchair at a computer consol. "Here, let's start with this."

As a lamb before the sheers, Rusti thought grimly. She sat, a bit nervous as to what Cody had in mind. He slipped under the desk and came out a moment later and turned the computer on. He glanced at her as the monitor flashed on. "Nervous?" he asked. She nodded. "Don't be. I just want to see if you can transmit."

Her brows raised, "Transmit? You mean telepathy?"

Cody referenced the computer programs until he found the solitaire game. "Sorta," he replied. The boy withdrew from the monitor with a bit of hope in his eyes. "Can you manipulate that with your mind, Rusti?"

"What?" She gazed at him as though he were crazy. "Cody, this is silly. That's a machine!"

He knelt beside her, his face kind, but insisting. "I know it sounds weird. But there is a kind of kinesis that works with machines. It's **very** rare, almost nonexistent. But if you share this . . . mental ability with the two Primes, I'm willing to bet there's more to it. Give it a shot, Rus."

Her eyes drifted from her friend to the computer. The game waited her attention.

Eighteen months of her life gone. Photographs of events that did not exist in her mind jeered at her.

Clear the mind. Look at the game. Three of diamonds goes over the four of clubs. Project. Think. The machine is waiting with its own power and its own language. It does not think for itself. The machine . . . no **this** machine, is not alive. It is a servant. Ones and zeros. Hexadecimal. Rusty remembered hearing about an alien ambassador that could read binary and hexadecimal. Concentrate, dammit! Move the cards.

Snap! Without the guidance of a mouse or verbal command, the cards moved. A shiver of fear and excitement shot up Rusti's spine and a grin turned her face upward. "Ohmigod," she whispered. It was like discovering how to read.

Five of clubs over six of diamonds. Add that to a seven of clubs and again over an eight of spades.

Pick a card from those empty spaces. An ace of hearts. A duce of spades. A four of clubs. No matches. Fish from the pile at the top of the screen.

No, take it a step further. Go inside the game. Go inside the computer. Change the system. Change the rules.

Display all the cards.

Cody choked back a cry when all the cards turned over at once and even started shuffling by themselves as though done by invisible hands.

THIS PROGRAM HAS COMMITTED AN ILLEGAL ERROR AND WILL NOW SHUT DOWN.

Rusti laughed, clear and sweet and left the poor machine alone. The two students sat in the dim light in silence for a long moment, each lost in thought. Rusti suspected she already knew how to do this, but lost it in the accident. How could she forget this little trick? The girl felt as though she won a private game all her own. She thought she could walk on air for the next week. It wasn't anything like regaining a memory, but a part of her life was brought back to her . . . and she had Cody to thank for that. She wondered if she should kiss him for it.

Cody found a koosh ball sitting nearby and tumbled it between his hands. Finally he spoke, "Do you know what any Autobot is thinking at any given time?"

"No." Now she could not look him in the eye. "The whole thing is weird. It's just Optimus or Roddi. I don't know if that's natural selection, or if it has something to do with the 'wiring' in my own head." She caught his puzzled gaze and winked to make sure he understood she did not mean literal wiring. He nodded, understanding and Rusti thought hard, struggling to come up with some kind of analogy to explain the relationship between she and the two Primes. An idea came to her and she tried it: "You know how you sorta connect yourself to someone you love deeply?"

He shrugged. "Never loved anyone deeply. 'Cept my mom."

"Well, you've heard of how people who are really close can sometimes sense what's wrong with the other person, right? I mean cases like a mother knowing something's wrong with her child, like a car accident or other kinds of danger?"

"Yeah. I don't know what they classify that as, though. I've heard of it."

"Well . . . that's how this works." Her words trailed as she thought of Optimus and Sensed him bending over paperwork, fussing over traffic problems along the Pass. She drew a deep breath and cheered up a bit. "I guess you could call it cross-species empathy, huh?"

Cody set the koosh ball down. The corners of his mouth tightened. "What about the Matrix, Rusti? Don't you think that might have some kind of influence on you?" He held his hand out to stop her from answering the question too soon: "I know what you're already going to say: that you have no relationship with it. I know. We've talked about it before."

Her forehead wrinkled with puzzlement. "We have?"

"Well . . . in a round-about way, I guess you could say." He verbally stumbled around, struggling to cover his own tracks. "Do you remember anything about the Doppelganger War?"

"Yeah. I remember it." She snorted. It was old news, something she'd rather forget.

"Didn't you tell me once that you were sick when you lived with your folks and were not allowed to even visit Fort Max? I mean, I know this is ancient history to you and you'd probably rather not talk about it, but I think you need to think it over more carefully, Rus."

Her whole frame fell downcast as though she were a criminal facing the reality of her guilt for the first time. Why was it so hard to face that fact of her life? Why did she try so hard to hide from it? Was it because it made her feel less than Human? She saw herself as neither Human nor Transformer . . . at least she **looked** like something! But her abilities confused her-or, was 'ability' even the right word?

Stand up to it, girl. Face that mirror or you'll be running from it all your life!

Rusti drew a deep breath and stared into Cody's brown eyes. "I have sensed it on occasion. I . . . I've even communicated with it, though I often can't remember what was said. I can feel it in the walls here in Fort Max. It's like they breathe, you know. I mean, I can tell if the presence is Max or the Matrix, if that sounds crazy. It's like music, almost. I mean, it's not sound-music, but life-music. It's . ." She shook her head. "It's impossible to explain, really.'

'The Matrix isn't some fancy tree ornament you lock up in a box and haul out when a crisis hits. And it's not just a library of someone else's experiences. It's pure life energy with a mind of its own. The Matrix takes on personas. Sometimes I can feel it as a nondescript . . . presence that inhabits the city. Other times it feels like a guardian warrior or even a protective, gentle lady."

Rusti stared into space a moment, her face a blank of utter concentration. She was not even remotely aware of the memories that came to her. They were old, memories of another time in her life when she was very young and listening to one of Roddi's personal tales while sleeping in his arms after a bad dream. "There's even a Root Personality in the Matrix," she added after a moment. "But I've never encountered it. Optimus once spoke of it when he traveled through its corridors looking for an answer to the Hate Plague."

Her words fell away as her mind still wandered somewhere along its own tracks. Cody watched her, half expecting more, half realizing she was finished and was merely lost in thought. He finally sighed and stirred from his standing position. "It must be fascinating encountering something so alien, but something mostly familiar to you."

That brought her out of her daydream and she smiled as though dim clouds of sadness drifted apart and sunshine of happier thoughts touched her. Cody loved that smile and felt a slight tug of envy toward her robotic guardians. How often did they get to see that particular smile?

"Cody, how would you like to encounter something alien to the Human species?"

The boy offered her a lopsided grin. "You're not going to make me drink oil or taste energon, are you?"

THE MUSIC IS ALL AROUND YOU, CHILD.

Cody spun about the room, expecting someone else there. But only he and Rusti occupied the room. "What was that?" He turned back to Rusti and swallowed air. Her eyes radiated with the same blue light shining from the optic sensors of Autobots. He could not even breathe. He mouthed Rusti's name, but no sound escaped his throat. A warm tingling sensation milked down Cody's sternum. He gasped, raising his eyes toward the ceiling. Light and music enveloped him, filled his whole being and he thought he could fly with it.

"Matrix!" he called out, "is this the Matrix?"

EPSILON OF SEVEN. CHOSEN FOR THIS TASK

Power unlike any he ever felt poured through Cody's body. He did not know how to describe it. He struggled to keep his mind on the moment or at least long enough to ask another question. But the power-the Music, kept his mind more on the sensation than on his intellectual understanding.

What did he want to ask? It must have been important, certainly! But his body shivered and his mind left the room, racing across the whole of Fort Max. His inner eye climbed the huge buildings in a matter of seconds. His senses took in the whole of the hundred-mile territory the Autobots purchased in the Cascade range. He breathed in the cool spring air and the cold metal of the city at the same time. He counted the citizens and workers in the city. He felt their life force and their well-being. He touched every blade of grass and every molecule of dirt. He heard every song of every bird and felt the lasercores of every Autobot in or around the city. He heard Ultra Magnus' voice and watched air traffic land on the Upper Level. And he spotted Optimus Prime, pouring through paperwork but before Cody could get a better look, the world imploded and he was back in his own body.

He fell to his knees and gasped for air.

Distantly he heard Rusti calling him. He felt her gentle cool touch. And just as distantly, heard himself tell her he was okay. But it did not feel like his voice. It was as if his soul still hovered over his form and his body ran on automatic. His ears felt stopped up by water.

"Cody!" Rusti called and held his face, "listen to my voice! Follow my voice. Cody?"

Her words came clearer and then everything was normal again. He breathed in one more time, seeing her with his own physical eyes. He blinked.

"Ohmigod," anxiety filled her voice and Rusty nearly jumped to her feet and dashed out the door except that he caught her hand and brought her down to his level.

"It's okay, Rusti. I'm okay. I'm just not sure what happened, that's all."

Her face fell blank. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't do that? Your eyes changed."

"Do what? What are you talking about?"

He smiled lightly. She was totally unaware of her own physical change. "I heard Music." Panic left her face and Rusti calmed. She understood, at least in part. "Did you do that, Rusti? Did you . . . 'turn' the Music 'on'?"

She remained quiet for a moment. "I Heard his voice first. I used to sleep by it," she answered, meaning Prime, "I was very little and didn't know the difference. And I don't think he knew what was going on until I answered him back one night." Rusti smiled more to herself than Cody, "He freaked."

"I can't imagine Optimus Prime freaking over anything."

She shrugged, not surprised. "I guess it's a side of him not many people see." To herself, Rusti thought how sad that there were many sides of the two Autobot leaders of which most people were unaware. The girl supposed that was both a good and a bad thing.

Light from the doorway filtered into the room, disrupting the cooler light from the windows on the west. The two kids shaded their eyes from the hallway lights and the next second a bald fellow in a white coat and a disapproving frown filled their vision. Rusti batted her watering eyes and shrank from the overwhelming sight of Dr. Cynyr. She braced for the unavoidable lecture and quickly tried to think of an excuse for being in the room.

Dr. Cynyr nailed her with his dark eyes. "Young lady, I don't know how many times you have been warned. Optimus Prime-"

"Um, this is my fault." Cody abruptly interrupted, "We were looking for a quiet place to study chemistry. She didn't like the idea, but I insisted."

The excuse sounded good, but Cynyr remained unimpressed. "Young man," he boomed, "this area is prohibited to civilians. That's why there is a SECURITY LOCK at the front of the DOOR." And once again he nailed Rusti behind his thick glasses.

Cody stood, completely ignoring Dr. Cynyr's ugly expression and helped Rusti to her feet. Rusti thought her heart would beat right out of her. One thing she did not need was a bad report from Cynyr to Optimus. Not that Optimus would pay much attention to it, but her parents would.

They abandoned the room, feeling Cynyr staring after them like a gargoyle perched at the door.

Rusti managed to muddle through her homework toward the end of the evening. Her mind often strayed from her psychology homework and it took forever to concentrate on the vocabulary for which she had a test the day after tomorrow.

Sleep evaded her, too, no matter how tired she felt. Rusti tried sleeping on her back, on her tummy, with the music on then off. The window was opened and later shut. But even at a quarter to one A.M., her mind bustled with questions and whirred with thoughts that refused to be still. She finally sat up and stared out the window to a world lit by city and traffic lights. Buildings stood as black and white checkered monoliths and an occasional Autobot, Springer, perhaps, passing between the cafeteria and one of five major visitor's buildings.

Rusti struggled to take inventory of her own head. Whatever it was that kept her up now evaded her conscious mind like a mischievous child playing hide-and-seek with her parent.

And speaking of parent, perhaps that was the key-a 'Freudian slip', as they'd call it. Daniel and she had another 'debate' a couple of days ago. He claimed his argument was for her 'own good'. But Rusti viewed his concern as a means of control. As unfair as that sounded, it seemed every time the girl yielded a little to trust her parents, their concern twisted and proved they were looking out for themselves; they always had to be 'right'. They could never, nor wanted to ever, understand her situation. It was a game she and they played for years.

Aunt Delphra was certainly no help. She had a personal problem with the Autobots. With each year, Delphra's attitude grew uglier until Rusti simply could not stand to be even in the same room with her.

Well, the girl thought to herself, I could either sit here all night, or I could find a way to get sleep. She shed the blankets and hunted about her room in the dark for her robe and slippers. The walk from the EDC complex to Central Command was not far, but far enough to probably wear the bottoms of her slippers. No matter. The walk in the cool March night would do her some good.

Of course, that was a bad assumption on her part. A bitter breeze chilled her skin and she started having second thoughts about going back to her room and snuggling back under the covers.

But upon seeing the lights emanating from the new front courtyard to Central Command, Rusti decided to remain on her path. She had a bedroom here, too and could be just as comfortable as the room in EDC-except her homework was back there.

Both admonishing eyes and wary smiles greeted the girl as she stepped through the lobby. There was a statue that once stood in the lobby but it was removed after the battle between Optimus and Roddi. That was yet another memory that disappeared from Rusti's life. She forced herself to keep focused. Pay no attention to the changes, just keep going.

At least the corridors greeted her with warmer temperatures than the great outside. The elevator climbed in silence and the two bulging-eye aliens who occupied it with her also remained silent. It was eerie being up this time of night and season. Not that Rusti was a stranger to late nights, but she felt everyone's reproachful gaze, whether they knew her or not.

The elevator paused at her level and when the aliens took one direction, she made certain to take another. This was private and she did not want to answer any questions they might have. It was none of their business.

But why did she suddenly feel so paranoid and defensive? Calm down.

His door was closed. Either he was unaware that it was closed, or Optimus needed privacy and did not wish to see anyone, even her.

Of course, he could be in a meeting, too. Rusti thought about asking Max, but didn't know if the city would tell her or not. She held her breath and tried to stretch her senses. Nothing. She quietly knocked, hoping she was not interrupting anything. Optimus seldom reprimanded her bad timing. But more often than not, she was as much a 'victim' of his looks as the next Autobot. It never ceased to amaze her how much he could say without saying anything at all.

No answer came from the other side of the door. Maybe he didn't hear her-but that was less than likely. Optimus could sense her anywhere, hear anything. He even knew when she was sneaking cookies into his office.

Rusti drew a deep breath and dared open the double doors just a crack. She nervously peeked. Was he talking on a private line? Or maybe he was conversing with someone and he just couldn't tell her.

To her relief, neither was the case. Optimus sat at the desk, pouring studiously from one pad to another, comparing information.

The silence of his solitude darkened her heart. She feared leaving him alone, though he was safely concentrating on something for the moment. Rusti laid her hand over her chest and debated whether or not to go back to bed. The gloom of his depression spilled from the room, contaminating her and the girl wished, not for the first time, she could chase away his grief. But she knew only Optimus and Roddi had the power to heal their inner wounds.

Even if she were to return to her room, the dilemma of a sleepless night still threatened to annoy her. Maybe she could just sneak in unnoticed and curl up in her little corner at the far side of his office. Not that she could sneak by him, in all honesty. Rusty knew that he knew when she was in the room, invited or not. She decided to stay and cautiously closed the doors, not once lifting her eyes from the god-like figure looming across the way.

She was like a Barbie doll compared to the rest of the room. Prime's steadfast desk squatted in the large room like a solid monolithic cube, filled with secrets; it was a barrier between he and whomever crossed the threshold and sometimes Rusti was sure he mentally hid behind it.

The televisor hung from the southern wall like an ancient drive-in movie screen. The book shelves between the desk and the window stood like soldiers waiting for orders. To her right hung a huge painting of mountains at sunset and a beautiful lake pouring between them. A garden comprised of flowers and a few strong shapely trees trimmed the painting as though the viewer were there in the world frozen in time. If Optimus knew who the artist was, he never told her.

Rusti stole three steps forward and to the right. Optimus did not move. She debated whether or not to say anything. Maybe he really was unaware of her presence. Her lips lined in decision and she quietly padded toward her corner.

"Isn't it a bit late for you to be up, Rusti?"

She cringed and wanted to laugh. Her heart skipped several beats. She loved his voice and could listen to it for days on end.

Time to act innocent, if that were possible. He always knew. "I couldn't sleep." Her mousy voice barely rang through the room and she marveled that he heard her at all. "I thought of you. A-a-and thought I'd come to see what you were doing. Are you mad?"

He leaned away from his work, blue optics staring at her with the 'I-know-your-ulterior-motive' gaze.

She tried the 'innocent smile' routine. It always seemed to work for Rodimus.

Oh, tormenting silence! The great metal god stared at her with an imposing expressionless face. He did not move as though he were trying to decide whether or not to be angry with her. Rusti struggled to keep from biting her lip. It would be a dead give-away. Don't bite the lip!

Optimus finally drew a deep breath, "Well, I could use a break." She won! Now keep a straight face about it. "I suppose I could walk you to the cafeteria-"

"Uh, no thank you." she quickly declined. 'I'm not hungry. Just can't sleep."

"Hmm." He stood, shoving digipads from the edge of the desktop. His optics caught sight of one and he glanced at it with as much interest as Rusti going through her civics workbook.

Now might be a good time to ask a favor, since Optimus obviously felt as drained and restless as she: "Could you . . . tuck me into bed," she dared-and accidentally bit her lip, " . . . and tell me a story?" Damn. That lip-biting probably gave the whole plot away. He'd know in a millisecond that she planned it before coming to the office.

And sure enough, the signal caused him to cross his strong arms across that great chest plate and he gave her that same 'ulterior motive' gaze, as though he could see right through her skin and bones. The game was up. "I thought humans grow out of that sort of thing when they reach a certain age."

Would he ever know how much she loved to hear his voice? Did he ever stop to guess that she never tired of his company? What would work now? The innocent routine clearly was not going to work this time. Rusti also supposed making promises to 'be good', wouldn't work tonight, either. Think, girl!

AND DON'T SMILE!

"I haven't said my prayers."

His gaze deepened. Nope, that didn't work, either. She should have thought her reasons over a bit more carefully. "One story." he agreed.

Her whole face lifted in a smile so big she thought her face would grow wings and fly right off.

Prime returned to his desk and sat back down. "I need to finish this letter. Then we'll go downstairs."

That was a promise. Butterflies flitted about the girl's stomach and it took a few moments for it to subside. She had no idea why she felt the way she did around him.

Rusti waited patiently. Her feet stole across the carpet an inch at a time until she reached the desk, hoping he would finish soon. How does one tell stomach butterflies to settle? Calm down!

Finally he flipped the digipad upside down and turned to her in his chair, arms on knees. "Are we ready?"

She reached for his hand and he lowered both, holding her tiny hands over his fingers and Rusti leaned against his right hand. "It's so quiet in here, Optimus. Don't you like music anymore?"

He remained quiet a moment and she sensed guilt, "I forgot. I'll listen to it tomorrow. You can even make the selection, if you'd like." She was so fragile, like a newly-bloomed flower or rainbows within the dewdrops resting on forest pine needles. His heart ached because he wished-

hush. She was here. This was enough.

And the night was growing old far too quickly.

They traversed the corridors and elevator in silence. Rusti wondered if it were so late she'd never get out of bed in time to catch the bus to school. Not such a good thing. It seems all she did was miss school.

Cold dry air blew through her and voices chanted from the walls. She glanced about, expecting to see someone down the hall behind them. But no one was there.

Light flashed from the sky and glancing out the windows, the girl thought it just might be the night patrol. But there were no EDC planes, business helicopters or Autobots there.

They reached her room and Rusti entered first, disrobing and kicking off her slippers.

-no, she was in a dark place covered in a fine layer of frozen space dust and several Quintessons surrounded her-

" . . . and some lingering remnants of his personality . . ."

" . . . a robotic zombie . . ."

And they tore into her heart and ripped it out and put it back in wrong and oh, how alone she felt!

Breathe! Dammit! Breathe! Where was the light! Where was home!

Oxygen came back to Rusti's lungs after a gasp and she laid a hand on her chest. Light fell about her. She was safe and warm and ready for a night's sleep. What the hell was that?

She gazed up at Optimus. He leaned against the doorway, head bowed, hand covering his face. He felt it, too! She shuddered and plucked at the bed covers. "Is it the Virus?" her tiny voice barely touched the quiet and she didn't know if he heard her any clearer here than in his office.

"I-I don't know, Rusti," he answered with a great amount of effort.

Her heart ached for him and she wanted to cry. Be strong. He needed bravery, not tears. She patted the beside and he stumbled to the wall next to her and heavily sat down. Maybe she could talk him into staying the night with her. He used to sit and watch her all night long when she was sick. Certainly he could do it now-so she could keep an eye on him.

Someone needed to.

"I'm sorry, Rusti," Optimus's voice remained quiet and weary. "The story will have to be short tonight."

Her eyes scaled his height and for a moment she thought the whole world consisted only of he and she; as if reality receded. In that same moment, Optimus seemed less like a god and more like a person. Perhaps his weariness tore away the walls, allowing the real person to come through.

She cherished that real person. Rusti smiled, though a tear nearly escaped her eye. "Even a little time is better than none." She watched as his hunched frame lifted a little and his optics lighted.

Rusti snuggled under her covers and waited to hear his sweet baritone voice, drinking it in like warm tea sweetened lightly with honey.

'The weather brought a brief storm to the Hundred Acre Wood. The wind blew harsh, stripping weak leaves from trees and forcing all citizens to shut their homes to the outside. Eeyore slept soundly in his home, for fierce winds and a bit of rain never bothered a donkey. . . .'

The lighting was all wrong in her room. That's what bothered her. No, shut your eyes and concentrate on him, his words, his voice.

'. . . peculiar flitted across his eyes. Eeyore took a step back, blinking to make sure he saw what he thought he saw.

Sure enough, there it was, sitting on one of the flowers. It was a little man . . .

There were other voices around her. They were nearly inaudible, but Rusti knew they were there, teetering at the edge of her conscious mind.

Dammit, pay attention to the story!

'"Ihh'm just a donkey. Eeyore's my name, or so everyone calls me. I don't know everything . . .'

The dust lay over her body like a fine layer of soot clinging to a fireplace long since grown cold and the lighting shifted as the monsters entered the temple-like room. She was supposed to be dead. Why was she conscious? What did Daniel suggest? A coma? No. It was no comma. She was, HE was dead.

They sucked her out of the light. But wait! That wasn't possible! There is no reactivation from final termination! It's never EVER happened before!

Rusti laid her hand on her chest. They ripped her laser core out.

" . . . A ROBOTIC ZOMBIE . . . "

'. . .Eeyore, ol' pal, ol' buddy-boy! I was just bouncing round about the trees when I heards ya talking to yourself all by yer lonesomeness. . . '

. . . EVEN TO HIMSELF HE SEEM . . . ALIVE . . .

He **was** dead. What brought him back?

The timelines slipped like two streams of water conjoining to create a new stream. It was wrong. It was not supposed to happen.

The timelines crossed.

And more voices poured from nowhere. The Virus? Maybe? Her head ached from the though of it.

. . .Indignant, Tigger set his paws on his hips. "Hmph. With a potty-mouth like that, you won't get any which way done nohow."

Eeyore decided to offer his suggestion: "I'm just a donkey myself and flying is far from my field of expertise. But maybe they're only glued on. And it's been my experience that sometimes when glue gets wet, it doesn't act like glue anymore."

Sink into the void. You can't feel anything there. Just let go and fall in. You can sleep there. No more pain. You'll feel nothing ever again. Fall. Fall.

. . . FALL! FALL!. . .

Rusti shook her head as a dagger of pain pierced her skull just above her left eye.

"What's the matter, Rusti?" Optimus asked softly.

She gazed at him slowly, realizing she lost track of the story. However, the girl knew it was foolish to attempt to lie to someone who could read people just from simple observation. Prime almost seemed telepathic at times and knew when she was bothered by something.

"Would you like me to finish the story another time?" he offered.

She mutely nodded, but wished she could find a way to talk him into staying the night in her room. She feared him leaving her though she could not rationally explain why.

". . . FORGIVE ME."

". . . FOR WHAT?"

Weariness assailed his expression as he tugged the covers closer about her. "Now I lay me down to sleep." And how sad that sounded! Why did it suddenly sound so familiar? Why did it sound like the first line of a poem? No, no, no arguments now.

"Now I lay me down to sleep." she murmured.

"I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

She sleepily repeated the phrase and fought to keep her eyes open long enough to finish. "And if I die before I wake," She echoed after him, "I pray the Lord my soul to take."

Her mind blurred and all she heard was him repeating the prayer in a variation of his own language: "Klathsthas, guiess."

"Pleeman, trivaine." Rusti answered in Autobot.

"Klathsthas, mieonoin"

Long pause. Her mind slowed and darkness crept toward the borders of her consciousness. "Ordain trev memain." Her family had no idea she could speak the Autobot language. It was a little secret between she and Optimus and Roddi.

"Klathsthas, kordeeths."

"Necheochnot. (pause) P'baldan, Grosh, mieonoin." Sounds about her drowned in the bliss of sleep.

"Prasaxan."

"Amen." Her heart slowed. The lighting in her room returned to its normal state.

"I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT YOU!"

"THEN . . . STOP ME!"

He took to his feet and Rusti sensed the movement and the voices, nagging at the fringes of her mind rose and fell and she bled inside her chest.

Her heart stopped. Her breath failed. The light in her soul drowned in a cascade of distant images and faces. Something went horribly wrong on the Mausoleum.

She struggled against the currents of unconsciousness. Breathe! Pain shot down her back, pressing her to the bed. He was going to leave her room and if he did, he'd not make it to safety-Optimus, don't leave! But the words failed to escape her throat.

One voice cried above the rest of them, clear, without shouting: ONE DECISION MADE IN THE FUTURE AFFECTED THE PAST. WHAT WILL YOU CHOOSE?

She choked on the attack. Get up! Move! But her body did not want to obey. She lifted her arms and managed to push the covers from her chest. Her eyes cleared enough to see him retreating toward the door.

Rusti managed to get off the bed, but she fell to her knees. Her head throbbed so that she had vertigo. In her state of disorientation, she thought she could reach out and touch him.

She drew breath, "Optimus, don't leave!"

He collapsed and she followed him down the same dark road.


	2. Chapter 2

TRANSFORMERS: Silent Scream

Chapter 2

YOUR INDIFFERENCE WILL BE THEIR DESTRUCTION. 

**THEY ARE A WARRIOR SPECIES. THEY MUST BE STRONG. **

THEY ARE CHILDREN. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TREAT THEM THIS WAY. THEY CANNOT UNDERSTAND YOUR ABANDONMENT. YOU WILL HAVE FAILED TO FULFILL YOUR OBLIGATION TOWARD THEM. 

**OBLIGATION IS IRRELEVANT. **

YOU WILL NOT GO UNPUNISHED FOR THIS. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THEIR WELFARE. IT IS UNFORGIVABLE TO TREAT THEM WITH INDIFFERENCE. THEY WILL DIE. YOU HAVE COMMITTED A GREAT EVIL. 

**IRRELEVANT. THEIR PURPOSE IS TO PROTECT, TO DEFEND AGAINST THE GREAT EVIL. **

THEY ARE CREATURES, NOT TOOLS. 

**AND WHAT DO YOU PLAN TO DO ABOUT IT?**

Silence.

---------------------------------------

'Prime's the one with the Zatra Tatlic virus . . . he's not displaying any of the symptoms . . . unknown how he got it.'

'Rusti has all the symptoms.'

'The girl. Optimus Prime. Is there a connection?"

Rodimus had neither enough time or mental stability to explain about Rusti to Sentinel doctor Kyle Scott.

There was never enough time for anything, he wearily mused. News of the disease came as quite a surprise to he and Prime and Rodimus wondered where Optimus could have contracted such a thing. But at this point, who knew or cared.

Rodimus remembered watching from a distance as Doctor Scott administered a shot of serum to Rusti. He wondered if there was a way to translate it to a robotic life form. Doubtful, however.

The Autobot leader brooded as he gazed through the starboard window from inside Skyfire. The dark night greeted him with the gloom of encroaching storms, smothering his dour mood until resentment and depression were all that remained. He resented the sky for being so dark. He was angry at the never-ending flow of things to do. He was angry at the time of night they called him from New York back to Oregon. He was angry that the situation could not wait. The whole thing was stupid and he was angry at himself for being angry.

Prime's optics darkened as he repeatedly ordered himself not to be angry at Optimus.

His fuse burned short so easily anymore, the Autobots in Metroplex tip-toed on selenium eggshells. Most spoke around him in quiet voices. They were cautious not to stare him in the optic and their actions gave him a guilt complex.

Rodimus thought he could just shriek from the depths of his innermost self. He thought the roar, expressing all the frustration and restless anguish, might be heard as far as Cybertron. And he believed that once the echo of his screams finally died, he could destroy anything that managed between his hands, living or not. Rip it up, crush it, break it, bust it apart, slam it into the ground until naught remained of it but a thousand pieces. After that, Rodimus thought how good it might feel to bash his head against the hardest material in existence. Please, oh please make the pain go away!

And at that point, the Autobot leader thought he could just collapse and pitifully crawl like some forlorn dying thing on its way to some hairline crack in a wall and disappear from the sight of God and creature.

It took everything he had, every waking conscious minute to contain all that pain and rage, just to keep going one miserable day at a time.

Even his rest periods came haunted. All the horrid dreams he suffered in Fort Max months ago continued to plague him. Some times they were worse than others, but Rodimus could no longer remember the last time he had a peaceful sleep.

The wake-up call roused him at two A.M. They said 'immediate trip to Fort Max!'. They said 'emergency situation' and that he had to go.

"Well, can't it wait? I have five more minutes coming to me!"

No. THEY SAID. It couldn't wait. THEY SAID he had to fly.

"Emergency, Rodimus Prime." Roddi mocked them silently as he fumed. He would have rather driven cross-country, been there a day or so later. Driving at unbelievable speeds might have been very therapeutic.

No.

"I should GIVE them an emergency." he snapped to himself. Rodimus set his face with cold ire.

Something at the back of his head told him there was no reason for his foul mood. Well, what did that logical part of his mind know, anyway? Was it logic that suffered from emotional anguish?

No.

And did his logic have nightmares?

No.

Might have been another bad dream, right? Maybe that one of Unicron that likes to haunt him time after time. That same foul dream where Unicron performed surgery on him, methodically connecting Rodimus to his own filthy rusted corpse of a shell. Now the two were one robot. It was abhorrent, unholy, like having sex with the devil.

Rodimus moaned and massaged his face. He was far from prepared for whatever he was going to face-the one thing Blaster refused to say over the comline.

Damn it. Damn it all.

---------------------------------------

Rusti awoke in the sterilized environment of med bay. Based on the lighting, she could not tell if it were day or night. How did she get here to begin with?

Her father's face came into focus and she wished she had stayed asleep. The girl moved just a bit and tried to sit. But when her head went one way and her stomach the other, remaining still was a better policy. She fumbled with the blanket as a chill fell about her body. Her ears hurt, causing her to cringe.

Reluctantly Rusti turned to her father, sitting quietly with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded and head down in a bit of sleep.

That was good. If she could, the girl would have dared to sneak out unnoticed. No such luck. Not for her. She wondered why Daniel was here without Arcee. Often Rusti preferred a visit from her dad with Arcee there. Somehow Daniel's words were minced with a bit more caution when around his Headmaster companion. Besides, Rusti often tried to play a game of 'round about' by talking to the femme rather than her father. It always annoyed him.

She tried to speak but nothing came from her vocal cords except a pathetic whisper: "Hi, Dad."

Daniel snapped out of his stupor, snorting when he caught his breath. He sat up, dark eyes at the door then to Rusti. That lasted a glance when he darted about himself in search of his Headmaster's helm. Once that was visually secured, Mister Witwicky settled again and gazed at his youngest daughter. "You're awake," he commented deadpan. "Good. Your mother was worried about you. Arcee asked to come in and sit, but there's other things for her to do."

Rusti stared in unconcealed disbelief. Obviously HE wasn't concerned at all! "Mom asked about me? Did she stop by earlier?"

"No. She has to work, Resonna. You know that."

Always to the point, she thought. And dang it if he HAD to use that name! Resonna . . . it was right up there with 'Bertha', 'Henrietta' and 'Mary-sue'. "What day is it? How did I get here? What's wrong with me?"

"Blaster said you called in, saying Prime had passed out. When they arrived, they found you on the floor next to him."

Rusti blanched, "ohmigod. Is Optimus okay?"

Daniel Witwicky stepped to the window overlooking the courtyard in the R & D district. Most of the trees damaged in the battle several months ago were now replaced with a few 'imports' from the Redwood coast in California. He didn't like these trees so much; they were too tall. Mister Witwicky glanced back at his daughter, his exo-suit/life support softly grounded and sang. Annoyance and a bit of worry etched into his otherwise stone face. "Prime is in med lab." To Rusti, his voice was as flat as a teacher bored with repeated questions. "They said he had a system crash."

No tact. Perish the thought that Daniel could break it to her gently. Not that he cared about her feelings for either of the Primes. That was all bad water under the bridge. Her hand touched her mouth and she could not swallow the lump in her throat. "Ohmigod."

"Rodimus is supposed to arrive any time now." Daniel carried this bit of news with a deeper frown, as though Roddi were more an unwelcome guest.

Rodimus was coming back? Was it temporary? The girl's eyes drifted from him as her father rattled on about something in Metroplex. Rusti paid no attention. She wondered what could have caused the crash. Think hard, girl, what was the last thing you remembered? Her brows scrunched in concentration but all that came to her were flashes of colors, distorted images of someone else's memories. She mentally Reached to Optimus, but felt only darkness and despair.

---------------------------------------

There was light first. Light is always there at the beginning. Music and laughter, love and only good memories surrounded him. Time was a thing long since extinct; the sun hung in an ever-present state. He walked in gardens unimagined by any sentient creature. The hills and valleys were filled with everything that was good and beautiful and he drank it all in.

NOT TIME, YET.

Now he lay on a bed of cold metal, like an insect pegged to a board waiting for cruel treatment. Dark things shadowed about him in haunting silhouettes, all whispering in voices wrought with vile intent. The lightless world surrounded him and saturated him with emptiness.

The light in his soul all but died as his life was dragged from bliss into pain. Involuntarily he thought with a physical mind again. He became physically aware of his surroundings; the bitter cold, the smell of burnt rust. He sternly admonished himself for being afraid. Fear causes irrationality and keeps one from thinking. But that bit of self discipline did not reduce his anxiety.

They hauled him to a sitting position with chains and pulleys. One chain broke and the frozen, frail form nearly fell from the slab of metal. They cursed him in words of unknown origins and they struck him to satisfy their own frustrations. But he could not move or speak. He was not much more than a broken doll and what an awful feeling to be treated as such!

After a period of meaningless discussion, they busied about their clumsy repairs. They muttered ceaselessly, trading and comparing information, facts and guesswork. His design was not something they were particularly accustomed to, but they could make do well enough. Their disgusting semi-organic tentacles hurt and fingered him, toying with his body as one willing to abuse a defenseless animal. Missing pieces caused great pain. His outer layers hurt. Dried blood patched his left side where Megatron dealt the fatal blows. But his passive assailants did not bother to clean him up.

They gave him neither peace nor rest. And he longed to rest from the agony of their inflictions. They prohibited it. Pain would drive him for them. Pain would force him to obey. Pain, his taskmaster, drove him to an edge from which he never recovered.

They cared for nothing but their own designs.

Bastards.

Sl'kikik.

'Nk'glugkugk.

Even the Decepticons, children wrought of revenge and betrayal, had more honor. At least the Decepticons had the courtesy to obliterate rather than pervert, deprave, falsify and manipulate for the purpose of greed and self-satisfaction.

But their plans did not come to full fruition. At the end of one life, he outwitted them. At the end of a second, and 'false life', His will proved all the stronger. He fought to keep them from killing his people right down to his dying breath.

That's precisely what it took.

Back to the dark and cold and there was the Gateway again-but once more his pathway was diverted.

Piercing light struck him. His body stood painless, entire, clean. Fresh familiar air filled his laser core and it vibrated. Energon flowed flawlessly through his systems. At first there was a bit of disorientation, but Sky Lynx's voice and the surroundings of what was Metroplex promised he was quite alive.

It was amusing to note how everyone around him acted as if he ceased to exist entirely. They prattled on as if his soul just withered up like his body, drifting into non-existence like so much water vapor.

Here he experienced things and visited places too magnificent for mere words.

Now he was back in this mess.

Why? Couldn't the damn universe go on without him? He had no honest purpose. Not really. This was Rodimus' life story. His own chapter was closed. It no longer mattered. There was no destiny for him.

Not anymore.

Something warm touched him. Careful. Gentle. There came a quiet Voice. Soft. Kind. It called to him. It reached through the darkness, a cautious radiance that just brushed against him. He could tell the Voice understood his pain. The Voice tried not to frighten him, tried not to injure his tattered soul. He mourned the loss of emotional strength. He needed to be embraced but found neither presence nor comfort.

The Voice spoke carefully, slowly. It wrapped itself about him and held him just there. He clung to it as though for life. It drove the nightmare away. It chased off bitterness and fear.

Optimus activated his optics and took a moment to adjust to bright lights. He found himself partially sitting, his arms around someone's frame. Consciousness returned as his systems came on-line.

Someone pulled him out.

He believed it was a 'someone' because the Matrix did not.

The person in question laid him back on the table. Prime lay in med lab. Rodimus was the Voice.

First Aid retrieved what appeared to be a burnt chip. He set it and his tool on a metal tray. "Well, we seemed to have found part of the problem," the Autobot doctor piped.

Rodimus wiped fluid from Prime's face plate. "They called me in at two in the morning, Prime. Couldn't you have waited until ten?" He smiled kindly but it failed to hide his anxiety. He took Prime's hands in his own. "It was a good thing Rusti was there with you. They would have filed a missing person's report. And I would have seen your face on the back of a milk carton the following morning."

Rusti . . . that rang a distant bell. His mind roved around in fog. " . . . Rusti?" he asked weakly.

"She's okay. Just a little drained, a little disoriented. She called for help after you collapsed."

Weariness assailed him again. He wanted to talk more, to hear Rodimus speak. But all he could do was press his hands over Rodimus'. It felt good to hear his voice again. It was good to see him, to be in his presence. Optimus had not realized how much he relied on his Second-in-Command.

Roddi watched sadly as Prime fell back to sleep. It was all strange: the anger melted away the moment he stepped off Skyfire. They said Optimus suffered from a system crash, a nervous breakdown. But really, they didn't need to say anything. Roddi knew the moment he touched ground. Concern for his friend drove away the pain and agitation. Now he could focus. But at the time, he didn't wonder how or why. It was as if someone had turned a light on in his head.

But he wasn't expecting to see Optimus like this. Rodimus made a mental note to retrace Optimus' activities in the last few hours. He needed to find out what triggered the crash. Something like this can't happen again; neither of them could afford it.

He insisted the medical staff covered him lightly and kept the lights low. Later, he would order Prime to be placed in his own quarters. Medbay just wasn't very homey.

Rodimus sighed heavily, watching Prime sleep. The older Autobot's fingers twitched with dreaming and Rodimus patted his friend's hand then squeezed it. Optimus calmed, his optics sparking in response for a split moment. Roddi couldn't help but wonder if this fate wasn't in store for him. If he lost his sanity just after Optimus a few months ago, what's to say he wouldn't have a neural crash, too?

What was next? Attempted suicide?

---------------------------------------

Rusti nearly sang in simple delight. The doctor sternly ordered her not to overexert for at least two days. That included a break from school. By mid morning she recovered enough for a warm shower and a bit of make up.

Rodimus sat sullenly in her quarters while she changed her choice of clothes two and three times and reapplied her frost mauve lipstick twice. It never bothered her to dress in front of Prime or Roddi, though she sometimes teased Roddi about peeking at her "feminine virtue".

Her mother had fits about it, admonishing Rusti over dressing in front of 'men'. Rusti laughed at her and often (albeit uselessly) tried to explain there were no 'male/female' ideas among Transformers. You either were, (a person) or you were not. Simple! She wished it were like that everywhere. Besides, Optimus and Rodimus basically raised her and it really made no difference to them-it wasn't like they'd never see a girl before or anything. And they certainly would not be panting after a human girl, anyway.

She paused in folding a pair of jeans and watched as Roddi remained silent. The blank look in his optics portrayed deep thought.

He was so tall. They were all so tall, she thought. Even after living with and among the Autobots all her life, they never ceased to amaze her in some new way. And sitting next to her dresser, still as stone, Rodimus reminded her just how frightening the Autobots were. For the last fifteen minutes, Rodimus had not so much as twitched to scratch. Humans could never sit that still. They had to blow their nose or pick their teeth or scratch their head or crack their knuckles. But Autobots had no such clicks or mannerisms.

However, they had other habits often worse than humans idiosyncrasies. They liked to stare. It was often unnerving because their optics seemed to scan all around you and through you and in you. Often it was unintentional, but Rusti sometimes found it unsettling.

She folded a pair of white harem pants and pulled out a pair of tight designer red jeans. Out the corner of her eye, she watched Prime watch her. With shoulder struts slumped and elbows on kneecaps, Roddi appeared worn out, somber over Optimus' condition.

Rusti replaced three sweaters in her dresser and decided against the red jeans when he finally stirred, setting his arms across his lap. "Rus, did you feel anything prior to Optimus' collapse?"

"No." she answered with a shake of her head. The girl took a necklace out of a red and gold metal box and latched it on. The Autobot symbol flashed blood red in the light, reflecting brightly in the dresser mirror. She eyed herself momentarily before really putting the question to hard thought.

" . . . 'a robotic zombie . . ." The girl shook her head, brows scrunched to let out a thought or some semblance of sensible memory. "I think I thought I heard voices and there were flashes." She did not realize she now stared into nothing. But her heart weighed heavily and she laid a hand over her chest as though to sooth away the pain. "It was like an old dream, Roddi, something that keeps coming back but unchanged." Then her whole face wrinkled in perplexity over her own words. She turned to her friend and guardian with a bit of a frown. "Am I making any sense? 'Cuz I don't think I am."

Roddi smiled warmly. "That's not what matters right now, Lady Friend. I just need to know what you saw or sensed or felt. What happened?"

"He told me a story." Geeze, now she couldn't even remember what the story was about! Her head raced back to that moment when she climbed into bed but then the memory flashed black and one moment there was nothing at all-that was the memory-nothing at all, a blank slate. The next memory reminded her of standing at a bridge, bloodied aching feet under her and someone's arms.

Rusti shook her head in resignation. Nothing in her head made sense anymore. Then: "Oh! I was saying my prayer!"

Now Roddi stared at her with renewed interest and concentration. He even leaned forward just a little. "Did he say it with you?"

"I wanted him to stay with me and sleep because he looked so worn out." Roddi longed to prod her, but kept silent, hoping her own memory would work its way through. A terribly silent moment passed between them before the girl finally shook her head. "I see things that don't seem to add up to anything, Roddi."

"Just tell me what you see, Lady Friend. That's all I ask."

She frowned so that the corners of her mouth tightened. "It's like a . . . it's like a crypt, a place where people were buried in great . . . places. And there are these lights by their names. It's cold and dark and dusty and there are things muttering in the dark." She did not realize her hand had slipped to support her left side as though injured and her eyes reflected great pain. "Someone keeps shouting at me to fall. But I'm not there with the person. And the memory keeps going back to the crypt and I hate it." Her eyes climbed his height and her frame relaxed but she blushed. "I know, it's goofy." She slipped a loose blouse over a tank top and undid three buttons down. "I found out I can manipulate game cards in the computer today, Roddi."

Rodimus did not answer at first then, "hmm?"

"Cody and me kinda snuck into R & D because he wanted to see what I can do with a computer, since I um . . ." Rusti flushed a bit, realizing she probably should have said nothing to Cody about herself at all. Rodimus might not like the idea, but the worst he'd do to her was ground her for it (not that he would, anyway) "Well, I learned how to manipulate a card game in the computer. It was fun." She slid into a pair of powder blue jeans; tight in just the right places. Rusti opened her closet door and examined herself in the long mirror. The clothes were warm without the 'Eskimo look'. She smiled, satisfied. "Cody wanted to know what I could do, how I do it."

Roddi grinned. "Was he scared?"

"No, he wasn't scared." Rusti caught that mischievous look in Roddi's optics, a hope that maybe her 'little friend' might learn a lesson about curiosity. Roddi's expression changed and she read it as a cautionary look, though Rodimus said nothing more. She promised herself to be a bit more discrete around Cody, but it was hard when she felt she could trust him with anything, even to be a gentleman on a date.

The idea of a date led her to remember their little snack at the cafeteria, the chocolate cake and the strange sensation. She pinned Rodimus with her eyes, "Come to think of it, Roddi, there is something else. I mean, not at R & D. We were at the cafeteria, doing homework and eating chocolate cake when there was something like a . . . I dunno, a probe or something." Her gaze peeled slowly from the Autobot leader and fell to her left as though listening hard, "Blaster had static over the lines . . ." She struggled to recall more, but that was all the 'hard evidence' she could think that would give Roddi a trail to follow. She shook her head, plucked up her brush and ran it through her curly hair.

Roddi's frown deepened. "I'll look into it, Rusti."

"How long will you be here, Roddi?" Her heart ached to think he'd leave again. No more bad jokes or pranks. The city was too quiet without him there.

"Dunno yet, Lady Friend."

The lack of an answer hurt and Rusti feared the worse. Optimus needed him. She needed him. Tears threatened to embarrass her and the girl turned away and ordered herself not to cry. Don't leave me! She wanted to cry it out, to cling to his leg-and the idea of glueing herself to his leg so that he had to walk around with her fixedly attached was enough to keep the tears away.

Prime's commlink bleeped and he thumped his head against the wall. "Rodimus." he about growled.

Max's voice filtered through Rusti's room, SIR, OPTIMUS PRIME'S AWAKE. FIRST AID REQUESTED I INFORM YOU.

Rodimus looked to Rusti and found her already out the door.

"Last I recall was saying good night to Rusti." Prime sat at the edge of the flat, his legs swung a bit freely. He felt uncomfortable under First Aid's scrutinizing gaze. He didn't like anyone touching him in such a manner, but kept his silence.

First Aid helped himself to several more scans of the Autobot leader then compared them on his digi-chart. "Well, from what I can tell, you're alright. I had to remove three stabilizers and a rectifier." Aid gently admonished Prime with a shake of his finger, "You're far too stressed, Commander. I suggest taking it easy for a day or two."

Rodimus heard the short conversation as he tagged Rusti into med bay. They were going to move Optimus to his own quarters today, but apparently, that would not be necessary now.

From the floor, Rusti laid her hands on Prime's leg and searched for his face. His exostructure lay smooth and warm against her body and she thought she could feel his hemotricity flow and the soft vibrations of his lasercore close to her own heart.

She found her reflection in the shine of his color and her hand inched upward to glide along the smooth warm metal. When she realized what she was doing, she flinched, blushing a bit. What was she thinking?

Roddi courteously, wordlessly offered to bring her up. She complied, cautious as not to let him see her cheeks-just in case she were blushing. Rusti sat next to Prime's hand, spotting fine cut lines along his otherwise smooth round fingers. At first Optimus did not seem to notice. His gaze cast away from First Aid, off toward the door. His optics flashed just slightly and he turned, giving her his entire attention. She drank in the soft blue lights of his conscious state, comforted that he was safe. And for a fleeting moment, she wondered what it must be like to kiss that area there between his optics.

She lowered her eyes, struggling against embarrassment again. Focus, girl. And she remembered if it were not for her silliness, he might not have had the crash. "I'm sorry, Optimus," she whispered, "I should have stayed in bed."

"No, Rusti." he softly answered. "This wasn't your fault. It was bound to happen. I was fortunate to have a friend with me when it did."

**Friend**? Rusti could not look at him. Optimus always had a hard time saying personal things outright. He evaded intimate phraseology, or expressing anything personal. Rusti told herself it wasn't intentional and certainly not to hurt anyone. But she wished for once he would say 'I needed you and you were there."

Although obviously affectionate, Optimus never once outright told her he loved her. He had this barrier separating him from everyone else.

Maybe the distance protected him when he lost friends in battle.

. . . Something like that.

Rusti suspected he could never bring himself to express some things because he tried consistently, to fool himself. If he never said 'I love you', then he'd never have to say 'good-bye.'

After millions of years of not saying it, she would probably die never hearing it from him. Perhaps that's why people felt so removed from him. She forced a smile and patted his large hand. It was okay, after all. He had to be who he was and honestly, she loved him just the same.

Rodimus intervened here, "Well, Lady-Friend, I guess this means the Great Poobah here will have to commit absenteeism for a few days. Kick back, have a nice chilled drink with one of those little umbrellas in his glass. A pair of sun shades over his optics. Maybe a bit of suntan lotion." He glanced from her to Optimus and back, a goofy grin offset his face.

Rusti wondered if Roddi was just kidding. If he were suggesting a trip somewhere, it would have to be someplace nowhere near the Autobot cities on Earth-or Fort Zenith on Mars. She thought hard and quickly. "I suppose he could go to New Zealand."

"Negative." Prime objected. "We have treaty negotiations with the Quintesson ambassador next week. And it's something I have to oversee."

Rodimus and Rusti quickly glanced at each other. The girl shrugged and cast her eyes to the floor, knowing Roddi was staring sternly at Optimus Prime. There was going to be a knock-down drag-out verbal fight between them. Not that they would ever dare do it in front of anyone. No, no. Sessions like that were reserved for the conference room or worse, Prime's own office.

---------------------------------------

Sure enough, Rodimus found Optimus in his office as late as one A.M. But the computer screen was off and Prime sat in his chair, arms laid over one another, head bowed. Gentle musical chimes filled the room accompanied by the sounds of soft rain.

If he did nothing else he was told to do, Prime took First Aid's advice and started listening to music. Roddi knew he would have to start this therapy soon himself. If Optimus suffered from a neural crash, chances were he would soon follow. They needed to talk. The silent treatment had gone on for four months and Rodimus could not allow it to continue.

He silently locked the doors and a sense of warmth traveled down his back. Whatever Optimus was listening to seemed very effective. He darkened his optics, lifting his chin just slightly. Thunder rumbled about the room, sending surges down his back. It was perfect music, very convincing.

"It's from Yolthanis Three." Optimus' voice rang soft and sad through the 'indoor rain storm'.

Reluctantly Rodimus steered his mind and senses back to the moment and examined his friend. Prime's shoulders were down with weariness, but he looked better than two days ago. Rodimus dragged the chair from the front side of the desk and sat directly in front of Prime; optic to optic.

"I've come to talk." he stated flatly.

The chimes rang as though in a distance and Optimus forced himself to face Rodimus. "Very well."

Roddi shook his head and tried to control his temper. He failed: "It isn't 'very well!" he exploded, "None of this is 'well!' If we're not hacking each other to pieces, we're turning our backs on one another! I can't do this anymore, Prime. I hate New York, I hate not knowing what's going on, and I hate having to jump a plane and fly back to the west coast at two in the morning because something happened to you!" Rodimus sat at the borderline edge of the chair, staring intensely into Prime's optics. "You're tearing yourself apart, and you're tearing me up in the process!"

Optimus flinched at the accusation and silently stared out his window into the darkness of night.

Rodimus cursed himself vehemently. He didn't have to raise his voice or get so offensive. He rubbed his face with a weary sigh. "I-I'm sorry, Optimus. I-I didn't mean to be so harsh."

"It's alright." Prime droned as though in a trance. He did not look at Roddi, however. "Probably deserved it. I know I've been acting improperly of late."

Self effacement. Optimus was always willing to admit a mistake. But this was perjury; he did nothing wrong and he was apologizing! Rodimus' heart sank. His hand reached out to Prime then hesitated. He didn't know if he should touch his friend or not. He didn't know what reaction he would get.

The chimes tinkled softly in the air, adding to Rodimus' sense of self doubt. What did he mean he didn't know? He should.

Roddi clenched his fist then stretched and set his fingertips beneath Optimus' chin. Prime followed the direction of his hand to meet him optic to optic. The sadness in Prime's expression filled the other Prime with reflective grief. He felt the encompassing hopelessness, the despair, the worthlessness. For a moment, the emotions threatened to overwhelm his own fortitude. Rodimus fought it off, even clenched his fist to attain a sense of control. The Link they shared was both beneficial and detrimental.

"Optimus," he began again, this time softly, "I've watched over the years as you've distanced yourself from everyone. You've pushed Jazz away by giving him his own command in Australia. I watched while you drove away Ultra Magnus. You keep driving people away in a senseless morbid attempt to protect yourself from the pain of losing them. But all you're doing is hurting yourself. I see it. It's not just the Matrix doing this. Now, with the virus, you're finding an excuse to push me away."

Rodimus choked. He withdrew his hand and forced himself to control his frustrations. "I am not going to just let you rip yourself up, trying to convince yourself that by placing a barrier between us, you're somehow protecting both of us. It just doesn't work with me. I know exactly what you're going through minute by minute and don't ever kid yourself otherwise. I feel this despair, too! I feel the same pain and yet you shut me out.'

'I'm here for you." Roddi's voice automatically turned stern: "And right now, you're going to talk to me. Otherwise, dammit, I'll sit here until you either start talking or I end up a rusted carcass." Rodimus sat back, slapped his hands on the arms of the chair then crossed them in front of his chest plate.

The chimes tinkled mournfully and the patter of rain softly sounded. Prime studied his second in command. Rodimus was as damned and determined as he. Their wills were well matched. But weakened by the breakdown, Prime's own resolve would not permit him to stay silent, to firmly resist Rodimus' inquiry.

A slight dizzy spell brushed over him and he had to take a minute to reorient. He hesitated then, delaying the inevitable. Rodimus was asking him to voluntarily peel away the makeshift patches holding his mind together. "I-I don't know . . . " he quietly toned, "No idea where to start, Roddi."

Roddi. The nick-name carried a tone of affection and for the first time in three months, Rodimus believed he finally reached Optimus Prime. Perhaps they could get everything out in the open. No more cover-ups. No more bullshit.

"I suppose it started prior to the Revitalization of Cybertron." he spoke deliberately, measuring each word with care. Optimus turned his chair slightly toward the window. The music now echoed one soft note then two, a bit of thunder peeled faintly and the Autobot leader wished it really was raining. "I had considered a long time what to do, what goals to set, what to achieve. I thought about trying to rebuild and revitalize Cybertron, to get the Autobots to move forward in their lives, to put the Plague behind us."

He sighed heavily, still not looking at Roddi. "But Vector Sigma . . . covered that necessity." He paused again. Old dark memories crept over him and unwillingly, he faced them one at a time. "Perhaps, it goes back further than that."

Here, the older Autobot hesitated, choosing his words, "When the Quintessons brought me back to life on the mausoleum, you were the last person I hoped or expected to see. I could not control anything; not what I was saying, not what I was doing. All I could do was scream silently."

Optimus paused a moment again. Rodimus felt tension build. Optimus' body had gone rigid. It hurt to say this, to tell someone something he would never have spoken about. This was not the Optimus Prime the other Autobots saw: The great and mighty leader they looked to and admired. This was Optimus, a scared and injured child. Rodimus suddenly felt unworthy sitting in the position of confidant. Oh, certainly there had been times when Prime had disclosed private thoughts to him. But this went deeper than that.

Prime slumped a little. He rested his chin on his knuckles, his elbow sat on the chair arm. His optics gazed out the window, staring far off into nothing. "There is a human term for one who violates without conscience or permission. It's often referred to an act of taking everything that is sacred, that is personal, that is private . . . " his voice drifted.

Roddi understood. Optimus referred to rape.

" . . . Could barely control myself, forced to do things I would never have done. When I finally was able to pull myself together, it was nearly too late. I wanted to die again, just to spite the bastards, to show them they could not control me. They violated me, Rodimus." Here, their optics met and Roddi noted the coldness in his friend's expression. Suppressed anger lay there, an anger that had gone cold once, now rekindled through this private confession. "They tried to make me kill the very people I loved. They ripped my soul apart."

Optimus shifted in his chair, his frame more or less recovered from the moment of despair. Rodimus stared at him not so much with understanding as with sympathy.

Optimus quietly continued: "Since the Revitalization, I seem to have lost my sense of purpose. I once lived one day to the next, deciding how to integrate the Autobots into Human Society. Or attain land to build cities here on Earth. My path was so clear, so straight. Now . . . there's nothing more to be done. Cybertron is whole. We are not at war with the Decepticons, and have not been for a quarter of a century. All of this has left me purposeless. Where is the challenge? Where do I go from here?"

Again Prime paused but briefly, turning his gaze to his monitor. "I had hoped that by helping you find your place in the Chain of Command, I would be helping myself. I had hoped that between the two of us, we would find a new definition and purpose for our lives. But it has not." He hesitated here, moving to speak, but not able to say it, as though what he wanted to say came with greater effort. A hint of shame crossed his face plates.

"I . . . just don't have any reason to live. Not for anyone, not for myself. It's a-day-to-day, sometimes a minute-to-minute struggle just to keep from falling apart." He shook his head slowly, optics fading, "I can't stop it, Rodimus. And I fear it's only growing worse."

With that, Optimus fell silent. Rodimus reflected how the Quintesson attempted to assassinate him by using Optimus' resuscitated body. The emotional blow was hard, cold. It hurt to be hit and attacked by the one person he loved most. He never had any idea how Optimus felt about it. Prime had buried these feelings so deeply, that even Rodimus had no idea they were there.

As for the lack of destiny, of purpose, Rodimus realized that he himself experienced the very same feelings. All this time, he figured Optimus was planning something and sooner or later, let him 'in' on it. He never stopped to think that maybe the depression was eating the both of them inside out. He watched Optimus, noting how his friend seemed to wait to be judged. Optimus appeared old just then. He sat slumped in his chair, right arm on the desktop. He stared into the empty monitor. He had carried these feelings around for years and said absolutely nothing about it, as though he just tried to move on and forget the pain, the regret . . . the rape.

Rodimus involuntarily flinched. He thought about what Optimus had said; that he had no reason to live. He could die right here, or bleed to death in battle and the attitude would be the same. He could no longer live for himself or anyone else. Emotions glitched Rodimus' circuitry: He dared to wonder if Optimus had invented a way to commit suicide.

---------------------------------------

Rusti negotiated through the school hallway with everything but English on her mind. She cradled books and made sure her hair rested over her shoulders and draped a bit over her face as though to shield her from the world. The girl's grey eyes stared forward as though through darkness.

She felt nothing. Her mind floated in a sea of emptiness. The weight of her heart leaded her feet with each forced step.

She took her usual seat and passed her homework forward when Mrs. Connell called for it.

Everything around her felt wrong as if all life's rhythms were out of sync. At the front of the classroom, the teacher tapped a vocabulary list down the board. She assigned three reading books and set up the essay question of the day:

"EXPLAIN LIFE"

Dumb topic and Rusti rolled her eyes. A heaviness settled over her and the girl wondered if she were starting her cycle. It always made her so cranky.

So she wrote: Life was . . . a peach with sweet taste. Juicy and metallic and here in your soul you should know what's going on but you don't because for some reason, there is a block and you know that something is wrong at Fort Max but you're not quite all sure what it is, that's why you failed the spelling test last week and that's why you can't sleep at night and that's why you're so worried about Optimus Prime because you sense something more is going on than what even he might be aware but you are just a stupid little girl who doesn't know any better and that's a good thing because otherwise, you will have to suffer right alongside the two of them and you keep asking yourself why things are so odd around your life because you haven't stopped long enough to take time to really ask.

So what the hell is wrong with you?

"Time." the teacher's voice rang cold in the silent classroom. Rusti realized what all she wrote and tried to swallow a lump in her throat. She could not have written all that.

Did she? Was that her?

Mrs. Connell strolled between student desks collecting papers and Rusti held back hers, shaking her head in embarrassed objection.

"Miss Witwicky, we've been through this before. You are in class, not group therapy. Please hand over your work."

Her heart pounded against her rib cage and Rusti was sure her face glowed bright red. Naturally Mrs. Connell read the paper the second she acquired it.

"Life is a recipe for peach cobbler. Never forget to take out the pits and throw them away." Connell's parentive voice shot through the classroom. "Is this what I asked for? No. I want an essay. I want thought, Miss Witwicky. When someone asks a question, you are to think it through, not offer some simple-minded quip from a comic book."

Rusti felt her blood pressure and body temperature drop two hundred points. She didn't know how all that was possible-she knew what she wrote, but at least it was not nearly as bad as it could have been. She bit her lower lip. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Connell. I guess the topic was a yawner and needed a smart remark."

Oops.

Well, Roddi would appreciate it, even if Connell, the principal and Optimus did not. Her classmates appreciated it, too. They rolled about their desks laughing. Well, it was worth a few bonus points in the social department, the girl mused.

"Alright, settle down." Connell's voice sounded screechy against the cackle of student laughter and comments passed between peers. Even Jen, sitting two rows from Rusti, tossed her a grin. Connell set the collection of essays on her desk for grading and opened a work book. "I want you to turn to your Harbrace and from page 29, I want you to list all the different types of participles and write a sentence description for each one."

The room fell quiet again as students hauled out books, paper and ink pens. Rusti did the same, not daring to look Connell in the eye. She knew the paper would have an F scratched over it and a sharp reprimand from the teacher. Well, it was just one of a long list of charges on her behavior 'tab'. Rodimus just figured it was because she was young, and like himself, a bit repressed. Optimus rarely said anything, but gave her that look that told her he didn't need to say anything-that she knew better.

Something tightened around her heart and she had to force air into her lungs. She stopped writing and stared at the board. Her back tightened and her vision blurred. No, don't get up. Just sit tight, class will be over in twenty minutes. So she sat there and tried to concentrate on the assignment. Think about the words and what they were trying to say.

Transformers are the most adaptable species in the Three Galaxies. They can accommodate anything from climate to culture.

Dammit, CONCENTRATE!

The Autobots have a system of three different kinds of alphabet to relate to other life forms-both of organic and metallic nature.

Rusti hit the side of her head. CONCENTRATE!

Past perfect participle . . .

That was it. The day was over and Rusti knew she'd get an F later that week. She approached the teacher.

"Mrs. Connell? I need to get something to drink."

Connell snapped up. Her glasses sat at the tip of her nose, her dark eyes pierced the girl in front of her. "You're racking up demerit points, young lady." she snarled.

"Yeah, I know." The pressure tightened its grip and Rusti felt panic approaching. "I, I need to . . . please?" her vision tried to unfocus.

Connell glared, but obliged her anyway. With note in hand, Rusti stepped out and found the drinking fountain. But all the water in the solar system couldn't help. She stepped outside searching for the sun and found Cody sitting alone on a bench. He held a hall ticket between his hands; a detention for being out of class. She helped herself to the seat beside him, hoping he would keep her anchored to reality.

"Whatcha doin' out here, Cody?" She tried to sound cheerful, but her voice rasped in a struggle against oncoming tears.

Control yourself, she tried to tell her mind.

He smiled but did not look at her. "Got late t' class. Mr. Brinkly locked the door again. Can never tell when he's gonna do that, you know."

Rusti blinked against the waning sun wrestling against the clouds for supremacy. It was picturesque of her own struggle for emotional control. She concentrated on him, on his presence, his voice.

Cody was a cutie. His face, sculptured just so, was a piece of art. His form, not really lank, not very muscular, resembled that of a young prince's body. His hair flowed soft and sweet.

He studied her closely. "Are you feeling alright? You look a bit pale."

She slowly shook her head. Her mind fogged over in another state of consciousness. Something was terribly wrong. "No." she clumsily replied. "It's most likely nothing. Why are you late to class?"

He hesitated and straightened the corners of his mouth. "I've been thinking about your relationship with the Matrix."

Surprise twisted her face. He awkwardly evaded her question. Why? Rusti struggled to focus more intensely on the person next to her, but her vision betrayed her, forcing her to perceive of a light glowing from within him.

Damn.

Her legs felt like rubber. Just as Cody started talking again, her mind involuntarily wandered and she saw herself standing on a precipice, overlooking reality through someone else's eyes. Primus it would be nice to sleep for a while!

Fever touched her, turning her body hot and cold. She blinked, pulling her mind back to the moment. But it was a fleeting attempt. Cody talked on, saying things as though in another language. Rusti mentally stretched to grasp whatever straws of reality were left to her. She felt herself sinking. She remembered the hall pass. Time ticked away; her 'minute' expired. But at this point, she could not afford to care.

What did Cody just say? What words? Did he ask her a question? She sheepishly shrugged and recalled what he said an eternity ago: "Relationship?" Her words sounded slurred in her own ears. "I don't think there is one, Cody. I sometimes sense things-"

"But you once told me . . ." Cody paused a moment, searching. He remembered again that part of Rusti's life had been erased. "Okay, let's go this route: what can you tell me about the Matrix itself and what can you tell me about the relationship between It and the two Primes."

She batted her eyes, puzzled. Her foggy mind struggled to choose an appropriate answer. She mentally searched, recalling moments as witnessing an argument between Optimus and Roddi when she was little. But she was too young to understand what it was about. Rusti frowned. "I'm sorry, Cody. I've never even seen the Matrix, let alone know much about it."

"Is the Matrix a life form?"

"Yes." Rusti did not know why she answered that without hesitation.

"Do you think it knows the difference between Autobots and Decepticons?"

"Without a doubt. Why are you asking me this?"

"Because, Rusti, I think there is something between you and the Matrix." She shrugged, her eyes peeling off him and onto the ground. "Rusti," he added softly, "something happened to me at Fort Max the other day, when we were at the R & D complex. You did something to me."

"What?"

"That's what I'm asking you. You asked if I'd like to experience something alien and then this voice sounded all around me. Was that the Matrix?"

Rusti did not recall ever saying such a thing to him, nor did she know what he was talking about. "I remember being in the room at R&D, Cody. I remember you fell to your knees for some reason-" she watched him rub his face in frustration. What was he asking? What was he looking for? The girl sighed: "Alright, this is what I know: the Matrix is a being and a tool. It is alive, but not life as we know it; neither really mechanical nor biological. The Matrix is a place, both a storehouse and an inter-dimensional plane that is its own reality. The Matrix is Creation itself, and yet created. It also has emotion, which I kinda remember Optimus explaining it's more like an attitude of policy rather than a response or reaction to events or environments."

Cody stared at her, astounded. Where did all that come from? Just a moment ago he thought she was going to faint and here she spoke of everything but the origins and reasons for the universe. Sometimes Rusti seemed more than just a girl living under unusual circumstances.

"Has It ever been in your dreams?" he finally asked. Glancing at his wrist watch, the young man cringed inwardly. They had ten minutes before the first bell of third period rang.

Her eyes pierced him in surprise. It was awkward that he would ask something like that. And she started to feel like a bug pinned to a board, "yes. At least a couple of times."

"Does it say anything?"

"Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Because I think through you there might be a way to help Prime and Roddi. I think I might be able to prevent or block information the Matrix is uh . . . 'downloading' to the Autobot leaders."

Rusti lost all expression and about choked. "Cody, that's brilliantly wonderful!"

He playfully blew on his nails and rubbed them against his shirt. "Of course, I'll need to know something about Cybertronian physiology--"

Her face lighted, "Ohmigod. Uh, yeah!" the light in her eyes died just as quickly: "No. We should go to Preceptor about this."

Cody squinted his eyes in a cringe. "He's the one who's fluent in two-bit, seven-syllable words, right?"

The girl grinned then startled when the bell donged across the school campus. The sound echoed through her as though she were physically hit. Rusti's heart fluttered and her skin crawled cold and wet. Her mind fogged again and her spine froze. She forced herself up, "Science," she sounded as though again detached. Keep moving. It'll pass. "I need to get my books."

She took one step and Cody grasped her hand. Everything came to a stop. No sound. No sight. She saw nothing around her: not the trees, the buildings, the waning sun filtering weakly through rain clouds. The world fell to the muted colors of deep soft grey. Rusty found herself isolated. A soul brushed against her, though there was no physical sensation. It was not Cody's presence, but someone certainly familiar.

A distress call? Why would she think that?

The Presence mentally reached for her, unable to cry out. 'He' palmed the ground as though swept away by invisible hands. His strength and will failed as his soul withered. Rusti reflexively snapped out and caught him, embracing him fiercely to her. The unseen forces struggled to tear him from her arms. They ripped at his weakened form with freezing claws. His tears wrought by pain mingled with the blood of his soul.

He was going to die right there in her arms. The girl forced breath into her lungs and closed her eyes so tightly tears formed along the rims of her eyelids. The invisible hands were starting to drag her right along with him. But she still held on, determined to keep fighting.

One breath.

One minute.

Two.

Regret, despair, the loss of a sense of self poured from him like festering wounds refusing to heal. There came that unholy sense of hopelessness and Rusty thought for sure the soul she clutched so tightly would diminish in a matter of the next moment.

Another breath.

Oh Primus! Just live to the next minute!

Failure. Guilt. Agony.

"Oh! One more minute!" she begged, not realizing she spoke this aloud so others around her heard it, "please! Just one more minute! Do it for me!"

An all-encompassing sadness and longing for death nearly smothered her. Rusti straightened her back, strengthening her resolve. She wasn't going to let go without fighting with every ounce within her. The invisible claws came again and this time her eyes snapped open and she thought flames lit the rims of her irises. She did not need words; her own resolve, stern against the attacker, was enough to cause it to back off.

The grip of darkness broke.

No, it shattered like so much glass on concrete. Its power failed to blossom. She embraced the soul a while longer for the sake of comfort.

The grim sadness subsided, leaving her dizzy.

The greyness lighted, despair abated like clouds chased by the wind.

Voices swam in her head.

"Optimus . . ." her voice echoed deep in her soul. She reached out to touch again. Echoes of sounds she could not make out rang like soft thunder. Footsteps came in waves of echoes. She felt no pain, floating in a world she shared with two other souls. She touched and received a response.

Another breath.

Three.

"I love you." The voice came whispering far, far away. No, not a voice, really, just a soft resonate echo. It didn't say her name.

Four.

No sense of time.

Five.

"Do you have a relationship with the Matrix?"

"I honestly don't know. I don't know. I DON'T KNOW!"

Six.

She cradled the soul in her arms with the promise she would not let go. Why so much sadness, such loss of hope? She touched its face and tenderly kissed it. Tears dried. Blood stopped flowing.

She felt lighter.

A breath.

Two.

Three.

Light.

Voices.

"I'm here, right here. Shhhh . . ."

She blinked and found herself on her back. Weak sunlight streamed through new spring leaves and human shapes hovered over her like too many doctors over a patient. One person kept poking at her, hurting her side. Another set a sharp, foul- smelling object under her nose. Someone else called her name.

She mentally resurfaced to the real world, reluctant to leave the silence of her own world where love was the only necessary reality. She wanted to kiss again.

Slowly Rusti pulled herself out of her unconscious state and gathered information. Three adults surrounded her. Several students stood about watching.

"She's coming around." a masculine voice announced. "Resonna, are you alright? Resonna?"

She groaned. "My name is Rusti."

He ignored her. "We're trying to call your folks. Can you sit up?"

"What?" Maybe she didn't hear that right, "What? You did what? Why didn't you call Fort Max?" The mental shock left her voice with nothing to work from but a whisper. Rusti ordered her body to move and clumsily rolled over. She wished she could just sink into the concrete. The crowd closed in about her, purposefully and unintentionally touching her. Somehow, the girl felt scrutinized; just short of being violated. It was humiliating.

Dammit, why couldn't they just leave her be? She was fine where she was! It was quiet and beautiful there. She touched and loved. Music and color surrounded her but now it faded away like frost under a warm morning sun.

Rusti pushed herself up on her knees and Cody helped her to her feet. In spite of her anger, the girl felt lighter now, her face cooled, her pressure subsided.

Deep breath.

Mrs. Collins stared at her in fear. "Are you alright, Resonna?" she repeated.

"I-I think so." Her voice rasped and Rusti wondered if the mental shock didn't take her voice with it. That was embarrassing, too.

"Okay. They tried to get a hold of your folks, but no one's home. You want someone to take you home?"

Her eyes pinned Collins, "The school SHOULD know Optimus and Rodimus have physical custody of me. Why are they calling my parents?"

"The parents are--"

"Never mind!" She shouted. Everyone around her just proved adults didn't necessarily have all the facts; they just pretended they did. It was useless to explain the situation.

She turned to Cody, completely ignoring the crowd.

It never occurred to her the temper was unnecessary. "See me after school?" she asked Cody.

He silently nodded, grateful she did not see the question on his face. Cody politely gave her space and Rusti returned to English.

---------------------------------------

While Prime rested in his quarters, Rodimus undertook the unpleasant task of playing ambassador/host to the Quintesson delegation. Although the meeting area (A.K.A the football stadium) was already arranged for the opposing parties, there were still matters of security Rodimus wished to oversee himself.

Kup did not appreciate Rodimus 'moving in on his job.' His cold comments pushed Rodimus right to the edge and when he realized his mistake, Kup backed down, apologizing with a dour expression like that of a little boy told he could not go outside to play.

When preparations were in place and security was as tight as he thought it should be, Rodimus retired to Prime's office. An alien ambassador was asked to oversee negotiations between the Autobots and the Quintessons but he was not due to arrive for another three hours. With that amount of time, Roddi took up the pre-planned task of rummaging through Optimus' office. Amazingly enough, there were fewer digipads than usual. But much of that was due to Ultra Magnus' thoughtfulness. Optimus probably did not realize his work was intentionally reduced and redistributed to other officers. Roddi carefully picked at digipads, scanning each one, but kept another optic out for anything personal or private; whatever would give him a hint as to what else might be going on in Prime's complex head.

Not one ounce of information offered a single clue to Prime's neural crash. Maybe it was just as Prime said in his office a while ago. Maybe he was haunted by dreams or memories of the mausoleum. But if that were the case, why didn't it bother him before? Why would it cause him to crash like that?

In a fit, Rodimus bulldozed all the digipads off the desk. They rained upon the carpet, clattering and tapping one another. Rodimus rocked back in the chair, arms crossed, fuming.

Eeeeeeeeeep! The commline called for attention. Roddi ignored it. His optics dimmed in cold blue, his lip components lined hard in agitation.

Eeeeeeeeeep!

"Piss on it," he growled to no one. The Autobot leader silently counted to twelve before the damned thing buzzed again.

"WHAT." he could have grounded metallic hydrogen with that answer.

"Hey! I haven't heard from you for a few days. Is everything alright?" That was not the vocalizer from any Autobot he knew. Rodimus Prime turned his optics to the televisor and greeted a human somewhere in his early forties.

The human male was equally surprised. "Rodimus! Rodimus Prime!" His face brightened.

"Doctor Gates." Prime replied in Cybertronian fashion. He abandoned the backside of the desk, stepping (hoping to crush) digipads in his path. "What can I do for you?"

Paul blinked with a raise of his brows and surprise clearly lightening his face. "I hadn't heard anything from Prime for several days. I thought I'd check in on him. See what he's been up to."

Roddi crossed his arms and his gaze drifted elsewhere as his manner shifted from anger to sadness. "Optimus Prime is . . . indisposed." Rodimus never met the scientist personally, though heard him mentioned on more than one occasion. But it was seldom, if ever, that Optimus spoke of people he knew.

Paul said nothing at the moment, his fingers moved aimlessly in front of his televisor until they contacted an ink pen. "I . . . I've been very worried about him of late, Rodimus. You don't mind if I say anything, do you? That is, I'm sure Prime would not want me to say anything--"

Rodimus shot him a sharp glance, "Dr. Gates, if you know something, or think you do, spill it!" his arms switched from in front of his chest to his hips and he kicked aside a pair of digipads plaguing his feet with their cold sharp edges.

Paul noted the Autobot leader's impatience. "Well, we talked about four Earth-days ago. He was very distressed. I thought he was going to faint-er-black out in front of me." Paul hesitated. "Has he confided in you at all?"

Rodimus' optics narrowed, his gears grounded. "until last night We have not spoken in three months. He tells me he's re-experiencing past events."

Again the human fell silent, as though weighing words and thoughts. The pen hung suspended between his index fingers. "Umm . . . is there something I don't know? Has Prime had a nervous breakdown?" He watched Rodimus flinch with a step backwards. His foot slipped on a digipad and he nearly fell. He caught himself on the ledge of the desk. For a moment Rodimus remained fixed, suspended between floor and air. He almost could not pull himself up.

Paul realized he should have kept his mouth shut but now the truth was in the naked open.

Rodimus pounded a dent on the surface of the desk; one of several Optimus had left himself over the years. Anger welled inside Prime and Paul watched as the Autobot leader used his anger to gain strength. It was a remarkable tactic because the very next minute Rodimus straightened, piercing Paul with sharply lit optics.

Paul tried to pretend not to notice and diverted his eyes to his pen. A moment passed, long enough for Roddi to regain his composure. The scientist looked very pragmatic. "How have you been, Rodimus?"

The Autobot leader struggled to resist cuffing the question and cut the annoying man off. But Paul's voice hit a different chord and the beast inside Prime calmed enough to retain a sense of rationality. "Not as good as I'd like to be, Doctor Gates," he answered with leveled tones. "I have a constant need to tear things apart." And that confession gave him a guilt complex. Rodimus could not look at the screen. He longed to crawl away, maybe to Rusti's corner, rest his burdened head on her beanbag and shut down.

No, come on, he scolded himself, I'm stronger than that. He drew a cold breath and forced himself to face Paul Gates. "I guess I'm alright for the moment. Still fighting demons during recharge. I'll probably be here long enough for Prime to get back on his feet. How about **you**, Doctor Gates?" And that question perked a spark of evil inside him. Roddi was about to ask Gates a dirty, personal question. But when Gates shifted position, setting his feet on the desktop, it caused Rodimus to laugh inside and the thought died.

"Well, I've been trying to attain enough attention from your illustrious leader to ask how he feels about the specs."

"Specs," Roddi echoed. "What 'specs?"

Gates sat up straight and stared hard at Prime. "You mean you don't know?" He read another cold glare from Rodimus and cleared his throat. "We're working on the body shells of . . ." Roddi's expression did not lift and Paul felt a lengthy explanation would only antagonize the Autobot. Instead, he drew a deep breath and tried to avert Roddi's attention to something else: "You know, Rodimus, the two of you really need each other's help. You are strength without restraint. Optimus Prime is restraint without strength. If you could somehow create a balance between the two of you, learn to compensate for one another's weakness, you could feasiblely learn to control the Virus. If you don't, if you can't somehow learn to cover each other's back, the virus will force you to tear yourselves up inside out--literally."

Rodimus turned from Paul. Grief filled his core and the coldness of regret cast a shadow over his mind. He did not know what good he could do Optimus. Not like this; not with his rage barely controlled.

A call at the door called to Roddi's attention. He turned, greeting Ultra Magnus with no expression.

Paul saw the icy interaction between the Autobot leader and his city commander and faked a cough. "Um, Rodimus, I really need to go. Keep me informed if you can." he almost switched off, when he paused to add: "Take care of yourself."

The room fell to the same silence as a snowstorm in the colder part of January. Rodimus stood, all but ignoring Ultra Magnus, who waited patiently for recognition. Roddi and Magnus had still not spoken once since . . . since. The pit of his innards soured; his blood turned cold with regret. Magnus' courage certainly knew no bounds. Rodimus could not stare him in the optics.

Where was his own courage? How was he going to apologize to Magnus for the awful things he did or said? "Um . . ."

Well, that really wasn't a **word**, was it? It was just a sound, something that managed past his lip components without much thought behind it. He was stalling. Get it out! APOLOGIZE! Why was that so hard? Was he that stubborn? Was he that arrogant?

Yes, Roddi realized, it was arrogance. He forced himself to look Magnus in the optics. "Magnus, I owe you the biggest apology I have ever given anyone. But I don't even know where to start."

To the Autobot leader's relief, Magnus smiled. It was a simple, unassuming smile, something that Magnus might have tossed his way on a good, satisfying day. "Well, I didn't come here for an apology, Rodimus, but thank you."

The air cleared, as if all the bad things in the past faded out of existence and Rodimus felt better about himself and his relationship to the Major-general. He respected Magnus more than ever. He lightened up, his guilt diminished by several degrees. "What can I do you for, Mags?" he even smiled and Primus, it felt good!

"The ambassador has arrived, Roddi. We're ready."

Visitors, spectators and 'players' crowded opposing sides of the football field. The Autobots took up one side of the field, the Quintessons and their lackeys sat on the other. A small platform stood in the center of the field, a microphone snaked from a pulpit although the ambassador insisted he needed no such equipment.

During the 'lighter' periods of his illness, Optimus arranged a disinterested third party to stand as negotiator between the Quintessons and the Autobots. It was crazy enough an idea to even consider negotiating with the Quints, but Optimus Prime had his mind set. Even now, he insisted negotiation with the Quints was the best course of action. He managed to convince the Quints to agree to a cease-fire on Pluto. The battle remained indecisive and the Quints still held their ground on the southern vectors of the planet. Magnus considered the negotiation madness, but did not argue with Prime. Roddi, however **had** to contest it and he did so, vehemently over the phone from New York. But the heated argument came with no results.

Rodimus made his way to the stand before the bleachers next to Strike Back, Delta and Blaster, who came more as a recorder of events than a spectator.

From the northern part of the field came the alien negotiator and his assistants. Ambassador Koontah roughly resembled an Earth cat about five feet in height with a square face. He had no tail and only three fingers on his hands. A teal blue overcoat draped from his shoulders. A white shirt contrasted his fuzzy red-brown fur and oddly enough, he wore a pair of jeans with tan leather boots.

He was also blindfolded and Rodimus sharply remembered Optimus Prime mentioned the ambassador had cyberphobia, a fear of living machines. Rodimus thought it admirable the ambassador faced his fear and gave his time to aid the conference.

The ambassador's aids walked with him in silence as Autobots and Quintessons alike found their seats. Koontah appeared to be speaking to his aids, though he could not be heard. He took the stand, not bothering with the microphone.

"Fellow creatures," his voice did not carry through the air, but everyone heard him just the same. Rodimus flinched. The ambassador spoke with his mind! "I am honored Optimus Prime asked me to stand as your mediator. However, before we begin, I should like to set a few rules.'

'First: I come from a planet where manners are highly regarded. I will not tolerate any interruptions whatsoever.'

'Secondly, both sides will be given time to speak. But neither side is permitted to speak longer than thirty Earth minutes at a time. I am a guest, I do not like to be put to sleep.'

'Thirdly, I reserve the right to penalize either side for breaking rules One and Two. If you are to attain your goal, you must have rules. Rules must be enforced with authority. Authority must use discipline if it is to be maintained so that order can exist. If you find my tactics too strict or unfair, then I respectfully request that you find another mediator. On a final note--"

"This is ridiculous!" a Quintesson blurted. "Since when must we comply to the rules of a Wancheeah!"

The ambassador promptly turned to the Quintesson and pointed a finger at it. A spark of light shot from the ambassador's finger and hit the Quintesson so that the creature was thrown back against the stands, unharmed, but shaken.

Rodimus stood in surprise. Now he understood why Prime requested Ambassador Koontah's assistance.

The Wancheeah withdrew his hand. "Ambassador Cleprachon, I presume?" he stated the question so everyone in the stadium understood. "As I said, I come from a planet where manners are highly regarded and barbaric behavior, such as interruption, is ostracized. I'm making a kind motion here because everyone knows Quintessons are among the rudest of species."

A rather tall Quintesson stepped to the mic on their side, his face turned to Greed. "Our humblest of apologies, Ambassador Koontah. I'm afraid Ambassador Cleprachon has . . . some minor prejudice toward the . . . lesser races."

There came a pause and Rodimus wished he could see the Wancheeah's emotions behind the blindfold. One of the ambassador's aids leaned over and spoke into his ear. The ambassador nodded in response.

"Sub-Ambassador of Quintessa," Koontah used a generic term to address the unknown Quint, "Do your people find my terms unacceptable? Do you wish for another mediator? If that is such the case, then I presume you and your . . . party will have to depart from Earth entirely and immediately."

"No, Ambassador Koontah." the Quintesson replied with an oily voice. "We are willing to comply with your rules, so long as the Autobots also comply."

Koontah nodded once before attending the Autobots. "Commander Rodimus Prime?" he greeted.

Rodimus stood. Somehow, Ambassador Koontah knew right where he was, as though staring through the blindfold. It gave Rodimus the surges. "Commander Rodimus Prime, I am not here to make peace between your perspective parties. I believe peace should be a mutual agreement between people, not something coerced through a third party. My function is that of judge, one who upholds laws and rules of conduct. Nothing spoken or committed will leave this court without the expressed permission of both parties. Do you find my terms inconvenient or unsatisfactory?"

"No." Rodimus answered, impressed. Ambassador Koontah was good at this; and most likely, well experienced. He was cordial, but not cold or business-like. He spoke smoothly and clearly. The Wanakian ambassador touched his forehead with his fingertips and slightly bowed to the Autobots, arms held open, then repeated the motion to the Quintessons.

He held his hand toward the Quintesson host, but turned to Rodimus. "As it stands, the Quintessons are guests here, Commander Rodimus Prime. According to the social codes of Lunarphyte, my home world, visitors are given the right to speak first. Do you wish otherwise?"

"No." Rodimus agreed. At least the sleazy, scandalous Quints can speak first and get a few of their cards on the table.

Cleprachaun took his position before the mic and switched to his Face of Hate, the orange and blue face. "For untold millions of years, the Transformers were merchandise used to attain profits and alliances between the Quintesson Continuum and other sentient races. Then an unusual event took place and somehow the programming became tainted. Now the Merchandise believes It is alive. The Quintesson's case is that the Merchandise, calling themselves 'Transformers' are not alive at all, but acting out what we call the Law of Imitation. Part of the Transformer programming was to imitate living creatures so as to be readily accepted by our customers. Now, millions of years after our unfortunate exile from Cybertron, OUR home world, we demand remuneration."

Echoing robotic voices muttered and sneered in quiet disagreement. Rodimus all but leapt out of his body to attack the Quint and rend him apart one ugly face at a time. He found himself on his feet, ready to scream every profanity he could think of. But he remembered what Ambassador Koontah did to Cleprachaun just a few moments ago and managed to swallow enough anger to keep his silence and his place.

"Commander Rodimus Prime?" Koontah turned to him.

Rodimus shuddered, noticing how the Wanakian ambassador seemed to so easily pinpoint him. Roddi returned to his seat, feeling badly enough to want to crawl under it.

"Your Forgiveness, Ambassador Koontah." Cleprachaun intervened. "I yet have another point to make."

"Oh?" Koontah's voice dripped with sarcasm. He did not seem surprised, "You mean you still have more insults to make?"

"You are insinuating my words carry a certain degree of antagonism toward the robotic merchandise as a whole, and perhaps the Autobot line, the 'Consumer Goods', in particular."

Koontah smiled lightly, "it has occurred to me, yes."

"If you allow me to continue, Ambassador, perhaps I can dissuade you into realizing the Transformers are only machines. They have no soul, I assure you. They don't even have a word for 'love' in their vocabulary. If I might continue on my conjecture, Ambassador, I assure you I will not take much longer."

Koontah's ears flattened in annoyance and he crossed his arms. "Very well, Ambassador Cleprachaun. You have no more than ten minutes. Mind you to remember the Autobots will be granted the same time."

"Of course."

Rodimus slowly calmed. Optimus Prime was counting on him to keep a leveled head. He needed to think his way though this. He needed a good argument, not irrationality. But the Quint's words were an outrageous, abominable insult.

How could they declare the Transformers as nothing more than a collection of fancy vehicles with assimilated intelligence? AI creations never made mistakes other than those made by the creators. And he was alive! He knew the difference between life and death. He knew right from wrong. He knew love-he loved Rusti. And these . . . bastards are trying to convince everyone a horrible naked lie!

How could there ever be peace between Transformers and Quintessons? While Optimus had his share of dumb ideas, this one left them all at the starting line.

Thinking of Optimus, Rodimus found himself mentally Searching to see what his friend was up to. Prime should be resting.

Something with unspeakably long sharp teeth came right at him and Rodimus visibly flinched. He caught his breath and his hand pressed into his chest plate as though to protect his laser core. Shaken, he glanced to the podium and found Ambassador Koontah turned to him, as though he knew what happened.

Blaster leaned over, "you alright, Boss?"

"Yeah," Roddi quickly dismissed, "sure. I'm fine." but that was real pain. He could not hide it from his face and knew elsewhere, in the hallway near her room, Rusti felt the jab of pain in her own chest and she doubled over, crashing into the wall. He reached for her but found he could not comfort her; not when he could not help himself. He bowed his head, once again sinking into regret.

He should have been there for her.

"The Decepticons managed to retain a small portion of their programming. Unfortunately, they too have been tainted; their databases twisted with obnoxious and useless information such as music, culture, sports. They were programmed to obey. Nothing more. But I assure you, fellow creatures, the Transformers are by no means alive. They appear alive-even to themselves, stealing ideas from other races in order to fulfill their Imitation programs. I've even heard that they believe in--hahahaha-a god."

Silence hung suspended, cold and uncomfortable.

Emptiness filled Rodimus' spark and it grieved him to admit he could think of not one line to argue the rational and logical points Cleprachaun presented to the ambassador. It dawned on Rodimus that as a leader and a speaker, he failed the Autobots. The Quintessons would win the Ambassador's trust and gain ground and property rights on Pluto then on earth and finally over Cybertron.

But they won't stop there. After a short time, the Quints would attain legal rights to take control over the Autobots and the Decepticons and once again the Transformers would be subjugated in slavery, bought and sold like cattle.

"Ambassador Cleprachon," Koontah addressed. His voice brought Rodimus out of his dour musings. "As you are aware, there are several other species present today. The Nebulans, the Andvari, Humans, Nakrons and the Z'taxans. Many of us are only vaguely familiar with the contest between your species. From what little information I have myself, I know, or at least perceive the Autobots to be a sentient species. Can you prove to me otherwise?"

Cleprachon stared wordlessly and Rodimus gave a grim smile, grateful the ambassador continued the procession without embarrassing him.

"For millions of years, we have worked to perfect the Imitation Program, Ambassador Koontah. Imitation is such that it can fool even the highest of intellect. I'm sure you can appreciate the complication, seeing how even on your world there are animals who communicate with the sapient, but they themselves are not sentient."

". . . Hmm." Koontah stood, staring through his blindfold, at the Quintesson. "Commander Rodimus Prime, if I were to show you a photograph filled with people, could you find yourself?"

Rodimus glared, perplexed, "um, sure."

"Oh." Koontah again did not sound surprised, "And is it not true that although your people are on the brink of extinction, you choose to defend those peoples or creatures who cannot help themselves?"

". . . Yeah."

"Gosh. Uh, self-consciousness, volition, obviously emotion all in one package. Ambassador Cleprachaun, what are the five factors regarding sentient life?"

"We are not here to debate whether or not the Transformers are sentient life forms." the Quintesson snorted.

The stands rumbled with moans of disgust. Koontah held up his left hand for silence. "Oh. I beg your pardon, Ambassador," Koontah answered impassively, "From you opening statement, you had mentioned how the Transformers were simply merchandise and that theirs was a program gone bad. But from what I've been able to deduce, it sounds more like they, ha, decided to kick you off Cybertron rather than the case of a computer gone mad."

"Actually, Ambassador Koontah, we are here because the Autobots disagree with our methods of reorganization. We own several hundred worlds from here to the Sagittarius arm of the Milky Way. There are times when we must remind our tenants that we still own the space they live in."

Koontah held his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet a moment. He waited, Rodimus knew, for someone to answer.

Rodimus stood finally, finding enough strength and a few words to counter the claims, "Ambassador Koontah, if I may be permitted to speak?"

Koontah turned toward him and held out his left hand. "Yes! Commander I believe it is your turn anyway. Please!"

Rodimus allowed some of the quelled anger to resurface. Oh, but cautious now, lest the stream become a raging river! "Ambassador Cleprachaun, those people whom you call 'tenants' are natives to the worlds you claim as your own. You have repeatedly assaulted and pillaged many of those worlds. Your people have left death and devastation in your wake. What you do is wrong."

Cleprachaun pointed a tentacle at the Autobot leader. "Your interference is wrong. Who are you to judge us? Who gave you permission to meddle in our affairs? We are your creators. You have abandoned us. We gave you purpose, we gave you life and you walked out on us--"

"You ENSLAVED us!" Rodimus exploded. "You claim to be our creators-I don't even think it's the TRUTH! Not when you are nothing more than a horde of vampires searching the galaxy for more victims! We will NOT be your victims!"

"Oh." Cleprachaun sneered icily. "And in your self-righteousness, you come tromping through the stars, seeking to save whatever helpless world you may encounter. You Autobots are constantly judging other races by their apparent actions, not by accurate information. You make your battle plans based on hearsay and conjecture, rather than solid facts and precise knowledge."

That was the final filament. Rodimus' fists tightened. His whole body stiffened with barely restrained rage. Had Cleprachaun been any closer than across the field, Rodimus would have leapt out and done things to the Quint he knew he would not be proud of.

But well enough for both sides, Ambassador Koontah interfered, "I call for a break." He kept his voice level and calm, "We will resume in half an hour." With that the ambassador and his aids retreated from the stadium.

Barely able to suppress his fury any further, Rodimus dove away from the crowd and transformed, skidding across the ground at the greatest speed he could achieve in point three seconds.

LIARS! SLIMY UNDERHANDED GREEDY, SELF-SERVING BASTARDS! They had no regard for life. And as for believing in a god, their gods were greed and power. How could creatures so depraved and immoral ever create sentient life?

How?

He jammed along Max's streets, grazing over sidewalks and speeding a bit too close to front-end collisions more times than Blurr in a week.

He crashed through the eastern gateway entrance and with a hard left turn, raced up the ramp heading toward Suicide Cliffs. He pressed for neck-brake speeds then Rodimus transformed into robot mode, leapt off the ramp and just when he was about to land, he shifted back to vehicle mode and sped up Lookout Mountain. There, alone, he transformed back to robot mode and kicked the nearest, largest rock formation.

It didn't hurt enough.

He slammed his fist into it.

That hurt.

He did it again driving every ounce of rage into the rock's mass, pounding the immovable object until the rock split asunder and his hand suffered traumatic damage.

Now it really hurt.

Now it hurt as badly outside as he did inside. Exhausted, he slumped to his knees. What uselessness!

Rodimus leaned wearily against the damaged rock. He failed miserably. He expected to answer the Quints with all these brilliant ideas. He hoped to achieve peace for his people.

But he blew his chance away like smoke in the morning after the battle. And once again, he proved his inability to lead.

What a miserable wretch!

He sat down, laying his injured and bleeding hand over his knee. Rodimus tried to clear the webs out of his head. Sometimes he had to fight for clarity of thought, as though nothing in his head wanted to work properly. Sometimes all he wanted to do was sit and stare into nothing. Work be damned. Appointments were of no consequence; neither were people for that matter. Roddi was sorry he felt that way, but that was how he felt.

And today, like so many other days, he struggled to find the right motivation, any motivation just to move forward. But how can one move forward, when one cannot, does not wish to move at all?

Suppose the Quintessons have been right all along? And suppose the Autobots were just a collection of fancy machines that just imitated everything around them-even each other.

"Like a bunch of frumpy apes," Roddi muttered out loud. Just one program copied onto another and another and so forth. It made sense. It was sick, but it made sense.

But . . . that bit of doubt lingered yet in his mind. It couldn't be right! Rodimus knew he had self-consciousness! He remembered what it was like to be human once. The material used to 'download' his spark still reformed into a body. Perhaps it was merely accidental, but somehow, Rodimus could not believe that. If it were so accidental, then how under Heaven was it that the material still interpreted he, Magnus and the others into what they were as Autobots?

After all, did not the body reflect the soul?

Warm fluid trickled down his face and Rodimus touched the planes and curves of his face plates. He smeared the fluid over his fingertips.

No color. Didn't Optimus shed this same stuff earlier?

Was he crying? Was that what it was?

But none of the Autobots had this ability.

Except Optimus . . . Rodimus stared at it, stunned. They were changing. Little by little the Autobots were evolving, if 'evolving' were even the right word for a robotic species. Would it not be, then, that with the change in the two Primes would eventuate in change among the rest of their people? Maybe even the Decepticons?

Rodimus found it; the rebuttal proving the Quintesson's claims false. Those slime headed sl'kikik could not possibly come up with a logical argument over this!

. . . or could they? The Quintessons were among the finest scam artists in the galaxy. They could brainwash whole societies of people.

Maybe it wasn't enough.

A red-hot steel rod shot through his head and Rodimus choked, bowing over in agony. He tried to scan for his attacker, but there was no one nearby.

A bird zoomed and landed on the broken boulder. It tilted its head one side then the other as though examining Rodimus.

Roddi immediately disliked the creature. He glared then looked away, trying to clear the pain in his head.

The bird dared a hop forward. Roddi tried to ignore it. With another inch or two forward, the bird leered its tiny black head forward, intently staring at the Autobot leader.

Rodimus backed from it. Why he was afraid, he did not know, but he did not like its behavior.

The bird eyed him from one side of its head to the other and the very next minute, it shot into unimaginable dimensions. There was one bird, but its body split into several planes of reality, its form now oversized and distorted, gazed down upon Rodimus as though he were food.

It shrieked then music beat from its throat, the likes of which Rodimus had never heard. Its terrible sound sent spiking pain through his soul so that he felt himself bleed. The melodies shook the ground. The landscape melted to grey and the sky disappeared. Desert displaced the mountains and Fort Max. The sky looked as though set on fire.

There stood three great dead trees along the desert floor. Their darkened trunks and twisting branches resembled agony in its purest form and close by squatted a single tombstone with an epitaph whose letters changed minute to minute.

Rodimus choked. He knew what was said on that tombstone. The Matrix remembered everything-every name and every soul, every place where one died and the other was devoured. The Matrix forgave nothing.

Between the terrible music and the woeful words on the tombstone, Rodimus thought he would burst from the inside. He screamed for it to be silent, but the powerful music drowned his own cries.

"Be silent and do not speak again." The voice belonged to Ambassador Koontah. He appeared from no place, standing beside the nearest tree. The great bird shrank before him, panting. It squeaked and fell to the ground as though dead. Then it lifted its head and spoke in drowned tones too cold and deep for Rodimus to understand what was said.

"You are playing with fire," Koontah admonished it. "You will not speak in front of me."

The dark bird gathered itself and flopped about as though with broken wings. Then it took perch upon the gravestone and flew off.

"Thank you," Rodimus felt out of breath, "where are we?"

"You know where we are, Rodimus. This desolation is the doorway, unkept, unchecked. Soon it will no longer exist and your enemies will certainly find another way in."

Koontah was right. Rodimus knew where he was, he simply did not wish to admit it. The Matrix tried to make sense of the Virus, but failed and at each failed attempt, the Matrix fell weaker, eaten alive by the very thing Pyrt could not understand.

"Yes." Ambassador Koontah acknowledged, picking up on Roddi's thoughts through his fears, "but you are not dealing with mere sentient beings. They are Super Creatures. They have abilities you and I only dream about. They have no intention of making peace with you whatsoever."

"Tell me something I don't know. Tell me what can be done. Tell me what is happening to me!"

"They're presently carrying out other plans. "Your city is being psychically attacked. I sensed it when we arrived this morning."

"Attacked? How? How can I stop it?" An abrupt sadness swept over him and Roddi covered his face.

"Call your people, Rodimus," Koontah ordered. The vision of his figure faded darkly from Roddi's view, though his voice lingered a moment longer, "You're slipping into Darkness."

Hope left him. "It's the Matrix," Rodimus spoke to the air. "It's dying." Darkness fell over his optics and his soul. He struggled against it for only a moment. "The virus is killing us."

Cold sharp teeth sunk into the back of Roddi's neck. Poisoned fire coursed through his fuel lines. Roddi sank to his knees, stunned and sick. He laid upon the barren, sun-bleached ground and waited to die.

They were a species of imitating machines; not really living things. They were programmed to behave a certain way. They followed their programming. There was no destiny to follow, no great choices to make or paths of their own to pursue.

Stand by.

Wait.

Those thoughts weren't correct.

They weren't even his.

But Roddi's grief overwhelmed his logic circuits. It overpowered his rationality. If he were nothing more than a mere machine, then why did he bother to struggle to argue about it? If his body was just a shell covering the inner workings of a computer no more complex than a Commadore .64,why did he bother to believe himself real and alive and a living thing with a soul?

The matter weighed heavily against his frail spark. Rodimus tried to move, only to watch his fingers curve and straighten with the attempt. The cold sharp teeth bit him again, this time around his right shoulder strut. Soon, he thought, he would be eaten alive, picked apart like a pre-digested fly.

It was better that he ceased to exist anyway. After all, who wanted to be a copy of someone else? Isn't that what everyone expected him to be? Just another Optimus Prime?

Oh, sure, Optimus reminded him time and again their leadership styles would always be a little different; they were different individuals. Still, many Autobots looked to him like a living reincarnation of Optimus Prime.

Optimus.

Rodimus feared his friend would attempt suicide. But he could not prove it. And what if he died? What if what he was experiencing was in fact real? There would be no more pain, certainly, but was he dying?

His diagnosis programs failed. Primus, he WAS dying!

Grief leaded his soul and Rodimus had no strength, and no more will to fight against it. But now that he was dying, what was to happen to the Autobots? What about Optimus Prime?

It was too late and Optimus would not survive the anguish of his death. In his condition, Optimus would not be strong enough to move on. He would never recover, cutting himself off from all support, leaving himself vulnerable to a world where he would never love anyone ever again. He'd do it too, Roddi knew. Optimus would permanently separate himself from everyone who knew and cared about him.

Emotional suicide. He would become a cold emotionless person.

Rodimus mourned the thought. His chest hurt. He felt blood trickling inside. His injured hand ached. Roddi shut off his optic sensors. His systems failed one by one, going cold with loss of energy, loss of Spark. No more life. No more hope.

Darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

TRANSFORMERS: Silent Scream

Chapter 3

Saturday? Sunday? What day was it? Rusti slowly lifted her eyes to welcome a world fraught with darkened skies and clouds brooding in their water-weight. She groaned and rolled over, staring aimlessly out her window. Yup. Rain clouds. Lots of them.

What day was it? Did she have to go to school? Oh, Primus, most likely. Her eyes drifted to her dresser and from there to her bathroom door and right toward her closet and right again toward the front door and from there to her desk and vanity and to the photographs on the wall and the phone.

A red light silently flashed at her, calling her attention to messages waiting her response. Maybe Cody left her a message-maybe he called to remind her it was another school day and she was supposed to get out of bed and get dressed.

The girl reluctantly rolled out of bed, scratched her leg, kicked her shoe (ow) and nabbed her phone. She plopped back into bed and realized she needed a shower and a few other amenities. Sometimes it sucked being a girl. Rusti hit the replay button on the handset and lay back on the pillow to listen.

HEY, RUS. GOT YER PHONE TURNED OFF AGAIN, I SEE. WELL, WHEN YOU WAKE UP, YOU MIGHT REALIZE THAT IT'S THURSDAY AAAAAANNND YOU'RE LATE FOR SCHOOL. CALL ME TODAY, OKAY? BYE!

That was Cody and she **did** have to go to school today. Roddi would blow it off, call the school and let them know she was on death's bed. And being the charmer that he was, he could get away with it. Rusti, on the other hand, couldn't lie to the devil. Of course, missing school also meant lectures from several people, including, but not limited to, her Aunt Missy. But as lousy as she felt, Rusti figured if she just stayed in bed all day, her slothful behavior might be forgiven.

Next message:

HI, RESONNA, HONEY.

Rusti rolled her eyes. It was Mom.

HON, WE'RE GOING TO ATTEND A CONFERENCE THERE IN FORT MAX FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS AND WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU THERE, IF YOU CAN MAKE IT.

That, in all honesty, was not a request. They expected her to be there. She inwardly groaned and flipped the blankets back over her cold legs.

AUNT DELPHRA WILL BE COMING AND HON, I KNOW IT'S HARD WITH SCHOOL AND ALL THE RECOVERING YOU ARE STILL GOING THROUGH, BUT I DO EXPECT YOU TO BE NICE TO HER, ALRIGHT?

Rusti wished she had enough nerve and physical will power to slam the phone against the other wall. Her mom was still upset over the ugly argument Rusti and Delphra had two months before-an argument that included breaking a few things. Rusti had no idea her aunt had such a vile temper. Either that, or Delphra had gotten worse over the years.

Netty's voice drifted out of Rusti's mind as she kept on about being nice and pleasant-like her sister- and how good it will be with the family in a couple of days. Rusti did not bother listening to the rest of the message. It was like walking on ground glass on a hot summer's day and Netty's voice was never the most pleasant.

Rusti rolled over on her tummy, allowing the phone to drop wherever gravity pulled it. Maybe she'd be lucky and have a major test in school those two days.

Rusti stirred later, finding herself chilled and without her blankets. She rolled about, prying her eyes open and tugged the fallen blankets back around her. Her cramping stomach refused to let up and the girl debated whether or not to get out of bed and find something good to eat.

What time was it anyway? Or did she honestly care?

A familiar tapping sounded at the door and Rusti groaned, imagining herself an unholy mess; this 'thing' that had no makeup on, disheveled hair and an attitude that would land her on someone's shit list.

"Max, can't you just tell them I ceased to exist as of eight o'clock last night?"

"I heard that!" It was Roddi's voice and Rusty automatically yanked the blankets over her face. She heard the doors hiss open and did not have to look to know that Roddi's ever-cheerful face peeked in between them. A broad, irritating smile crossed his lip components and his optics probably held a twinkle of mischief.

"Good morning, Your Most Highness! Or shall I call it 'afternoon? School called to request your audience and golly, I had to tell them that you were on your death bed."

"Must have been difficult," Rusti muttered.

"Well, considering the disaster your room is in, the fact that you're not so much as watching TV or have eaten anything all day, I'd call that as close to death as a sixteen year-old gets without becoming street pizza."

"Not funny."

Roddi leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. "I'll let you slide this one out, Lady Friend, since I don't know what it's like to have cramps and chills. But I would recommend you see the doc if you need to. Got me?"

Rusti did not want to do anything. "Yeah," she promised. Something struck a cord in her head and she flipped the sheets off her face, "Roddi, how's Optimus this morning? Is he okay?"

Rodimus' smile faded a bit, "I think he just needs rest, Lady Friend. Whatcha askin' for?"

"Well . . . just that yesterday I had the weirdest thing happen to me. I was in class and had . . . I dunno, something like a dizzy spell or other and . . ." Suddenly the words would not come to her. She sighed frustrated, and played with her nails. "I dunno. I don't know how to explain it."

Roddi waited for more, but clearly the girl was not feeling well enough to say anything further. He let up from the door way. "Well, when it comes to mind, just let me know, okay?"

She mutely nodded and realized how much hungrier she was now. "Mom said she, Dad and Delphra will be coming up for some kind of conference. What's it all about?"

"Oh . . . just a short meeting with the Quintessons, that's all."

Her jaw dropped and Rusti hauled herself up. "What! You're going to go through with it? Roddi!"

He held his hands out to defend himself, "it's alright! Everything's being set up. Not a problem. That ambassador is coming. I don't want you to fuss, okay? We'll be just fine."

Rusti did not argue, but she stared, eyes filled with suspicion. She didn't like the idea of him going out there with those freaks. But duty was duty.

Rusti was better the next day. She wished it were Saturday instead just so she could have had a three-day vacation. But that's how her life worked.

She disembarked from the bus and waved back at Jen who lightly ran up to her, her face glowing.

"Guess what?" she asked, barely able to keep the secret to herself.

Rusti shrugged and shook her head. "Your dad got a life?"

"Almost as good." and Jen winked. "You know that guy I keep looking at in the cafeteria?"

"Yeah?"

"He's asked me out."

"Na-uh!"

Jen exaggerated her nod. "Yup. And he wants to go to the VR Park tomorrow."

"Ohmigod!" Rusti embraced her friend, 'that is so awesome!"

"I know! I don't even know what I'm going to wear!"

"Don't wear a dress! He'll probably ask you to play laser tag with him."

Jen giggled and squeezed the books in her arms. "Oh! Ohmigod, Rusti!"

"What?" Rusti's grin broadened.

"Maybe you could get Cody to take you too! We could do a double date!"

Rusti's eyes sparkled at the idea then her whole form slumped, shoulders fell. "I can't."

"Why!"

"My marvelous parents are going to be at that conference at Fort Max and they want me to be there."

"You mean they can't just let you go off and be happy for once?"

"It's worse than that, Jen. My Aunt Delphra will be with them."

"Oh, geeze, that's a bomb. I'm sorry, Rusti."

"Me too."

From one class to the next Rusti struggled to think of some brilliant way to excuse herself for one Saturday night with Cody and Jan. But she knew for every excuse she'd conjure, her family would think of a billion more to counter it. With Dezi gone to college, life with family became more centered around her. The real problem was that Brian had more or less rejected the family and spent most all his time with questionable company-that is when he was not in jail.

Cody flipped through one of several books researching the bio-engineering of Transformer physiology. He sighed loudly, half muttering as his eyes caught one pertinent passage then another. Rusti sat across the table from him in the library. She smiled, glad she asked for a private room. Cody was unintentionally noisy.

The girl sipped her soda and struggled with the book report for English. She liked to read, but hated the books school teachers made her read. They were either dull or lame.

"Transformer life is silicon-based," Cody read out loud. "I got that. But honestly, Rusti, none of these books really say much about bio-mechanical DNA. Lookit, this book skips on and says how the exostructure is constructed of living metals comprised of iron, steel, cybertonium. And that components consist of metals and process carbonic elements like oxygen and selenium." He lifted his eyes to her, I already know stuff like how the surface 'skin', is a neural network of sensors bonded to the metal. I mean, that's pretty much first grade material, right?"

She nodded, not really knowing what the boy was after. Rusti wondered how she was going to get a decent grade on this paper. If the book was so bad that she could not finish reading it, chances were the report would not make her teacher happy, either.

Cody stood from the table to stretch and replaced the one book in his hands upon the shelf. He rested his forehead against the row of books, thinking hard. "I already know the metallic structure of a Transformer are alloys braided at the subatomic level" He privately wished he could dissect a Transformer to really understand its inner workings. In addition to the complicated life forms of the sentient robots themselves, there was the connection between the Autobot leaders and their Matrix of Leadership.

Think, think, think. Maybe what he was looking for had nothing to do with the physical manifestation at all.

His eyes drifted to Rusti, who kept pouring over the essay. What was it about her that about drove him nuts sometimes? She had this face that seemed almost elfin in shape. She had this smile that sparked of innocence. Maybe it was that unlike other girls, Rusti was a more real person. She didn't try to be something she wasn't and Cody liked that in a girl. Certainly she had other interesting qualities; she was very smart. She was able to do things that amazed him. But there was something more to her. What did his grandmother once call it? An old soul? Maybe that was it. Rusti seemed far more mature than many girls her age. Autobot influence seemed to expect her to act more mature than society at large expected. And she was enthusiastic and took joy in simple pleasures.

That was rare. It didn't take much to make Rusti happy and Cody loved that more than anything. He wondered when he could kiss her again. And the thought made his heart swell. Maybe his mother thought he was too young to marry, but Cody was definitely in love and given a choice, he'd marry her.

The young man laughed inwardly. Later, later! He told himself. Back to the problem at hand! He pushed himself from the bookshelf, "Okay, Rus, how about you explain some of the inner workings of an Autobot." Her grey eyes shot up the moment he mentioned her name. It was some wonder why she was not asked out on dates by other guys. Perhaps it was that she was too strange for most of them. There was nothing shallow about the girl and maybe most guys couldn't deal with someone who could think circles around them.

She sipped her soda again, "like what?"

Cody grunted and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe like their respiratory system. Or their components . . . their brains, if they have any. Just something that will give me better insight than these so-called expertly-written books."

She rested her chin on her hand, eyes sliding to the left in thought. "Well . . . the spark is an immaterial force wrought into existence either by Vector Sigma or the Matrix. But you already know that." She watched him nod. "They use carbon-based crystallized micromemory chips. And if you're looking for bio-mechanical DNA, they used electromagnetic energy signatures imprinted in the liquid lenses of the optic sensors at least, that's one of three places that I'm aware of. Cranial components are composed of semi-organic substance that is infused with metal alloys and semi-conductive electro-chemical reactions." She batted her eyes and he grinned.

"You do and you clean it up."

She laughed. "It's what I learned."

"In those terms?"

"It's as simple as I can make it."

"Okay. Somewhere around there you mentioned micromemory. What is that?"

"Well, since the Transformers aren't 'flesh creatures', their brains aren't just a lump of grey matter. They have components, micromemory sitting in crystallized form--"

"Infused with metal alloys." he repeated.

"Yeah. Sorta."

"So you're saying they're using microchips."

She winced. "No. Not like a computer. It's living metal fused with organic crystalline structures. Their brains, or CPU's, as most people understand it, can grow and die off just like our brain cells."

His face went blank. "Ohhh . . . now we're getting somewhere." he pulled up a chair and sat across her. "Living metal can be manipulated by electro-chemical impulses using low frequency light or sound." he paused a moment, leaning on the back legs of the chair, his hands laced behind his head. His dark eyes stared at the ceiling. "What frequency did you say the Matrix is on?"

"Gamma." she replied quietly. "But, Cody, you can't just turn the Matrix on and off. It's a living thing with a will and intent of its own."

"I don't have to turn anything on or off. But I can construct and implant a chip emitting low-wave frequencies that would alter or block the signals the Matrix is sending to Prime's meta-processors. It won't be a cure, by any stretch. But it would be a temporary means of help." Cody raised his brows, searching for a response from her.

Rusti's mouth hung open for several long moments, both amazed and proud, "You're a genius."

He stood and invited her to do the same, "Well, come, my lass! Take me to your professor!"

---------------------------------------

Perceptor, First Aid and Trinket from Fortress Draco in Germany intently listened to Cody's humble idea. The young man was grateful Rusti agreed to go with him. He was no scientist but felt confident his suggestion was worth mentioning.

Perceptor mused a moment while the other two physicians looked to him for a remark. "Your theory, although highly over-simplified has verification possibilities," Perceptor agreed. "We could instigate a trajectory path through the cranial neural net and establish the correct frequencies for our attempt. However, we will require the assistance of a sample of the correct frequencies in order to modulate the proper adjustments."

Rusti and Cody's gave the Autobot's top scientist a blank look. An awkward silence followed Perceptor's comment until First Aid scrawled a diagram across a digipad and presented it to the students.

"I believe what Perceptor is trying to say is that we need a clear reading of the Matrix's frequency in order to adapt the experimental chips with the correct anti-frequencies. And I think Cody's idea is nothing short of remarkable."

Cody's heart swelled as he noticed Rusti's eyes sparkled toward him. He shrugged as though the Autobot's compliments were more than necessary, "Mom always said I'd get a brill idea now and again. When do we start?"

"We cannot" Perceptor flatly replied. "Optimus and Rodimus are both unavailable. No one's heard anything from them all afternoon."

Rusti's expression twisted in surprise and annoyance, "You mean no one has bothered to keep tabs on them?" She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and struggled to keep from calling them idiots. After the disastrous results of last fall's events, the Autobots should know better than to take the calm for granted. "What of Ultra Magnus? Does he know?"

Trinket shook her head, "he's been in conference for the past two days."

Rusti frowned. "I guess we'll have to wait, Cody."

Her friend tightened his lips in a set decision. "You know, we could use you."

Rusti shot him a puzzled look then cast her gaze at the three Autobots. "Me?" She shook her head. "Sorry, wrong lab rat. I don't do mazes."

Cody broke into a grin, "come on, Rus. All we'd be doing is taking a reading."

Rusti lifted a finger and tilted her head downward so as to stare at him from the tops of her eyes. "Don't think so, Cody. I am not a Child of the Matrix. You'd have better luck with someone who is."

First Aid shook his head, "I'd hate to get into a friendly argument, Miss Rusti, but he's right. All your records indicate there is a relationship. And all we need is frequency reading. No blood will be drawn."

What was she afraid of, anyway? The girl shrugged and glanced about the room. "Okay. Where do I lie?"

Doubt kept her silent while the two Autobot physicians taped electrodes to her head and hands. She almost asked if they were going to put one over her heart, too, but decided not to be silly about it.

What was she supposed to do? She waited while they fired up the computers and the graph readings. Trinket remarked how tense Rusti seemed at the moment and bade her to relax.

Cody smiled at her from the computer console next to the femme. "Do it just like you showed me in the R&D complex the other day, Rus. Like you were playing cards with the computer."

Rusti wasn't so sure. "Where do you want me to go?" The three Autobots and her friend looked at her simultaneously and the girl suddenly felt self-conscious. "Never mind," she added. "I'll . . . go for a hike."

She stretched her senses across the room, taking note the energy signatures radiating from First Aid, Perceptor, Trinket and Cody. She found it remarkable how different Cody's signature was from the other three and realized she never really read Human signatures before.

Deep breath and Rusti concentrated on the room around her. The walls breathed, aware of every person and object between them. Life energy flowed within the walls and outward, touching all things, connecting to all Autobots, aliens and Humans, finding a satisfied feeling of belonging.

That was Max. He was happy to be who and what he was. He was important to everyone around him, whether they acknowledged him or not. He was healthier now than he had been even two months ago.

Rusti expanded her awareness further outward, searching and exploring.

Trinket and First Aid monitored the girl's life signs while Perceptor kept track of all her mental readings, comparing them to earlier readings from the two Autobot leaders.

Trinket gasped as one reading jumped from a low level to a near-off-the-screen magnitude. "Primus! What is she doing? I've never seen anything like this from a Human!"

"My guess," Aid answered, "is she is near a theta-alpha state of consciousness."

"In so short a time? Is this normal for her?"

First Aid switched windows on his monitor then flashed back to the first screen. "According to Dr. Andersen's readings, yes."

Cody watched as the readings fluctuated a moment, then stabilized then expanded again. "Was, was Rusti in an accident that caused her to gain her abilities or was she born with them?"

"We honestly don't know," Aid answered without meeting the young man's eyes. "Optimus Prime has expressibly forbidden any tests to be conducted on her."

"Aid, her blood pressure is starting to rise," Trinket warned. They glanced at the girl and Cody saw she started sweating.

The buildings and streets vibrated with life. But Rusti discovered damage lying under the metal plating. Deep gashes resided in lines and conduits. And once, just once, she thought she spotted a flash of light on a wall. Was that a reflection from another source, or was it something more? She recalled news reports of people who claimed to have seen 'movies' playing on the building walls of Fort Max. There were trace symptoms of the Matrix Virus, but they were dismally minimum compared to before. How could it be that something so terrible just go dormant like that did? What quelled its surging power?

A black spider skittered just out of her sight. Rusti raced to investigate, using Max's own systems to guide her. She traced three energy lines and 'jumped' to four others, finding the spider was constantly just out of reach. Then the four energy lines abruptly ended with no caps, indications of other jump points. That wasn't right. All lines needed to start and end somewhere, but these lines ended at no place.

What was going on?

The girl puzzled over it a moment longer and realized she lost complete track of the alien spider. With a frown, Rusti decided the unusual energy lines were no big deal. After all, she did not pretend to know everything about Transformer physiology. She started to withdraw from Max's outside walls when something hissed at her.

Her senses darted from corner to corner of her consciousness, seeking the source of the strange sound. THAT was not supposed to be here! She listened to the walls and tasted the air. She registered those pinpoints of light representing Transformer sparks and the colors representing organic life force. Then her vision of the world, the city and all things, melted like wax, slowly reorganizing into a series of structures graphed out like complex computer readings, signifying only points of edges or those things where power input/output peaked.

Something snaked along the graph, a shadow there between the lighted lines and squares. Rusti struggled to make sense of the shape but it flitted from space to structure. The hissing sounded again, as if it were words understood only in a series of soft snarls and whispers.

Then the graphs that outlined shapes of buildings, people and objects melted downward, spiraling into a computer simulation of a vortex. Rusti backed away, realizing the intent was to drag her down. She felt the force struggling to swallow her down.

She backed off, but could not run. Her heart beat faster, now that she realized whatever it was, became acutely aware of her presence. A long needle-thin leg rose up from the spiraling, expanding black hole.

"No!" she sounded so mousy in her ears. She backed off and at the other side of the black hole another shape struggled to penetrate the graph wall. Tentacles scraped against the virtual wall and from the other side, Rusti heard voices muttering dark things. That meant if she didn't pull away now, she would be trapped, dragged down the hole that led to whatever black prison the voices planned for her.

Rusti started to run, but the graph did not indicate distance, either that or the black hole expanded as swiftly as she ran.

"RUSTI!"

She caught her breath with a start and light shot into her eyes. The very next minute she was back in med lab, Cody next to her, Trinket leaning over her with an anxious expression. The girl swallowed air.

Cody's hands were tight on her upper arms, his face drawn with anxiety. ". . . you okay?"

She was out of breath. "Yeah . . ."

"Are you alright?"

"I -what happened?"

Perceptor turned from his readings, "It appears an interfacing transmission commenced prior to recognition of your present surroundings. An interference spike shot up on your readings. Are you functioning adequately?"

"Um . . ." Rusti could not stop trembling. "Yes. I . . . I guess it just knocked me silly."

Perceptor eyed her skeptically, "Has this phenomenon transpired before?"

"No."

Trinket took further physical readings and compared notes from her scanner to a pad in her other hand. "Your body temperature is slightly high, Rusti. Just lie back and rest."

"We got it, Miss Rusti," First Aid's voice rang light with satisfaction. "You're very good at this. Have you considered applying for professional guinea pig?

Rusti gratefully took a tissue from Trinket and wiped sweat from the back of her neck. "Professional guinea pig? Nnnnno. Don't think so."

Cody gave her a second one when she sat up. The girl smiled wearily and dabbed at her face, hoping her make-up did not smear. She plucked the electrodes one at a time. "I do, however, need something to eat. Are you guys in the habit of starving your pets?"

Perceptor's optics flashed with excitement. "The readings from the test and its variables suggest a plethora of data. I have never seen such energy, such voluminous information."

Cody turned to her. "What happened?"

"I-I'm not sure. It was like a bad dream. I've not seen anything like that. At least, that I can recall. Usually I can feel Max or see things. But there was a shadow, or an image of one . . ." the girl winced, realizing her jumbled words conveyed nothing to her friend. She shook her head and fell silent.

Perceptor, Trinket and First Aid examined their separate readings and correlated the data, trying to make patterns and sense out of the lines and marks. Cody watched them, too. His eyes stared at the far off monitor without blinking. The girl wondered if he was actually reading. She didn't understand a thing, couldn't make sense out of all the weird read-outs or the vocabulary the doctors and scientist rolled out in seconds.

They were a species of imitating machines; not really living things.

Rusti flinched. Where did that come from? She scanned the room, expecting someone to be there, someone whose thoughts she might have picked up on. Her eyes drifted to Perceptor and she Reached out to see if his presence might have triggered the monologue.

No. Perceptor's world was narrowed down into the computer in front of him. First Aid's concentration was also on the readouts as he struggled to conjure theories and ideas. Trinket was clearly worried about something, but that was as far as Rusti could tell.

Cody beside her was also concentrating on the data. His eyes darted back and forth as he read lines and equations.

So it was no one in this room. Rusti's senses stretched out, lightly touching walls, swiftly passing this or that person and detected one large, powerful presence, bent on an errand. But it was not Optimus.

Optimus? When was the last time she contacted he or Roddi? Why didn't she think of them before?

That was it. Something was wrong. But did she dare say anything to interrupt everyone here?

She Reached out for Optimus.

No response. Usually there would be a Trace back to her; something to indicate his acknowledgment of her. But there came nothing. Rusti shook her head and tried again, sending her thoughts toward his garden.

Nothing.

She batted her eyes.

Roddi?

There was no destiny to follow, no great choices to make or paths of their own to pursue.

What? Her face twisted into puzzlement. What the heck was that?

Okay, think rationally. Rusti rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself. Right, rationalization. That went out with her skipping school the other day. And the crankiness. And the cramps.

" . . . easily bypassing the original signals, absorbing the spikes and translating them into a more benign code that can be reprocessed and later deleted like incongruent environmental static noise."

First Aid nodded in agreement with Perceptor's apparent gibberish. "Sounds good, but what about the negative-beta readings? Certainly those will not be so easily filtered and eradicated."

Cody cleared his throat, "'scuse me, guys," he attained the attention of all three Autobots, "aren't you forgetting that the negative-beta readings are carried through the system by means of tri-polar signals? If you don't modulate those systems, the negative-beta will bypass them like a girl skipping rope. You need to work on a deeper level than systemic polars. You need something that will change its bedding on cue without warning. Otherwise, the spikes will configure a set pattern and change accordingly. This isn't just some written virus. You're dealing with a living thing and life . . . adapts."

First Aid bowed over, hands laced over the back of his head. Perceptor's lip components lined straight.

Rusti gave Cody her attention, admiring his intellect. She leaned close to whisper, "Can you do it?"

He slightly shrugged and tightened the corners of his lips. "Hopefully. We still don't clearly know what we're dealing with. I think the Virus communicates to the Autobot leaders by means of ESP while it attacks them at even greater levels."

The girl stared at him, confused. "What's greater than ESP?"

Before Cody could answer her, the doors swished apart and Ultra Magnus stomped in. "Has anyone seen or heard from either Rodimus or Optimus Prime?"

Everyone gave the city commander a solemn shake of their heads. Rusti's heart pounded. "What's wrong?"

"I can't contact either of them." Magnus stared at the girl a moment longer, "Can you locate them?"

Her brows wrinkled and it made her a bit uncomfortable that everyone in the room except Perceptor stared at her. "Um, you mean contact them or find the area they're in?" Magnus silently nodded. "I don't know. I've never had to do an area-wide scan-"

"You must attempt." Perceptor lowered the digipad he studied and Rusti saw the urgency in his optics. "If these readings are correlating correctly, it means the situation is deteriorating rapidly. We may be on the verge of another flare-up and if I am seeing this correctly, the flare-up most likely will engender a rippling effect. The readings we took from you are starting to align with those of Prime's. The Virus may affect you exponentially."

Her heart froze. "What? What?" Her eyes darted from First Aid to Perceptor and back. First Aid bowed his head. He apparently suspected it. She looked to Cody in hopes he might say something to the contrary. But he too sent his gaze elsewhere. Her thoughts raced back to school and the day she blacked out. "Optimus," she whispered to herself. It **was** he that she brushed against. The black out was no dream.

"Rusti," Magnus insisted, "can you find them?"

She realized it was time to stop being afraid. The girl drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. She scanned the main buildings first, racing along hallways, and peeking into rooms. "Where were they last seen, Ultra Magnus?" she asked quietly.

"Rodimus Prime was at the summit with the Quintessons, establishing communications with Ambassador Cleprachaun earlier this morning. During their break, Ambassador Koontah informed me Rodimus had left in a north-eastern direction. I have not seen or heard from Optimus Prime all day."

Rusti searched for Roddi first.

Nothing. She searched Dinobot Stadium for his signature and encountered a strong alien signature instead. The mind turned and stared back at her and she flitted away, fearful of the sudden acknowledgment. Who or what it was, she dared not guess. She touched all the buildings and rooms in that six-mile radius, hoping her senses were correct.

A dark bird darted at her. It shrieked music, its wings flapped, creating a cloud of poisoned air. The ground shook under its spell-blinding vibrations. The landscape melted away as though an invisible paint brush recreated it with the simplicity of a single stroke. A dry, red-yellow desert spanned across the horizon and a single drop of paint set the sky on fire.

Three great trees stood dead, darkened and twisted like old women disfigured by pain and evil. And nearby stood an ancient gravestone, weathered and cracked.

Rusti choked, struggling to breath through noxious smoke and searing heat. She managed a scream, but the scream was only in her own trapped mind. "Roddi! Roddi!" Her heart pounded, her veins pulsed painfully. Not at the lake, not by the bridge. She checked the roads. No. No. No. Her eyes shot open but she saw nothing. Now she scrambled to escape the hellish desert and the ugly black trees. Get away! Don't read the epitaphs!

She blinked unconscious of tears on her face. Cody carefully took her hands. She was hot to the touch.

Rusti choked again and managed to bring her thoughts to the med lab, but could not pull herself out of the trance. The desert lay at the borders of her conscious mind. "Mag-Magnus," she whispered with effort, "there . . . there . . . cliffs. Hurry, the bird is there!"

"Cliffs?" Magnus glanced at Perceptor for answers but the Autobot scientist had his optics locked on the girl and did not answer. "Rusti, which cliffs? Where?"

She started crying, unable to break free of the desert's mental prison.

It wasn't often anyone broke down and cried in front of the Major-general but Magnus suddenly felt very inadequate and uncomfortable. If the situation weren't so serious, he would have retreated and asked her again later. Her boyfriend comforted her with a back rub and soft words but Magnus knew by experience that she did not hear a word. Patience, the city commander ordered himself. Wait. Sometimes the girl exhibited enough strength to pull herself out of whatever ailed her.

Finally Rusti pulled herself together enough to whisper something but Magnus was too far away to pick it up. "What did she say?" he asked her friend.

"She said 'Suicide, if that means anything."

"Suicide Cliffs," Magnus gathered. He waited a beat for some response and when Rusti meekly nodded, he dispatched an internal communiqué to Springer.

There was dear Cody, beside her, watching over her. Rusti' slips trembled and she wanted to tell him how kind it was that he sat there with her, holding her hands while she journeyed to places she did not know existed. She lifted tear-moistened eyes to search into his. Her makeup was smeared and she thought herself a frightful sight.

Like the pictures she used to draw for Optimus when she was little. Like the ink markers that smeared over the pages when she spilled her drink over them once.

This next task would be more frightful than searching for Roddi. She knew it instinctively because of the darkness that trapped Optimus. At the edges of her own dreams, she heard screams and saw just the slightest of shadows bordering at reality. The Virus slept uneasily, preparing to wake soon and devour what chaos it created.

Rusti felt her blood slowly heat up. She was a flame in a world of darkness and thereby naked and visible to whatever predator awaited her in the heart of the Autobot Empire.

Someone shouted at her, like some distant call, warning of impending danger. But Rusti could not make out the words. The shout became a scream. Or was that her scream? No. She was not screaming, but someone certainly was.

What? What was that again?

But the voice faded before she could make out whatever words it declared.

Peering down the corridor on the eastern side of Central Command, Rusti studied one figure then another as they traversed, heedless of her mental presence. They walked along a floor littered with flowers and drawings. Those were flowers and drawing she brought as gifts. They lay in soft incandescence of memories. Good memories, something of a power she could not comprehend but knew she created herself. Rusti reached out to touch the painting of flowers and her own hand print. It folded from her, wrinkled as though by an invisible hand then took on the shape of a butterfly and flitted away to rest against the nearby wall.

Office. Check his office. She left the rest of the flowers and papers where they lay and checked his office. The desk stood cold and solid like a rock and chain. The room stood in dim light, dour and emotionless. Business. Except one corner. That was her little place and bright colors and a tea set sat there in patient waiting.

But no Optimus Prime.

Think! Where would he go at this time of day? Maybe an inspection. Maybe a meeting. No, Magnus said he had neither seen nor heard anything. Prime would have at least said something.

There was his computer with the monitor on. That was a bit out of character for him. Optimus' desk was never the neatest place on earth, but he always shut down the monitor before leaving the office. It was just habit, she supposed. Soft light filtered from the dark screen.

No screen saver. Not that computers the Autobot constructed needed any, but Optimus himself sometimes used one just to entertain her when she was little.

Rusti mentally touched a digipad connected to the computer and the screen lit up with waking. A formula written in Autobot scrawled over the screen. She tried to read it, catching only key words and maybe a phrase, but it was pretty meaningless. Something about the Mars project and roads or something like that. Maybe entry points to Fortress Zenith from orbit.

And the file dated four hours old. She turned away and noticed just then how several digipads lay on the floor, toppled carelessly from the top of the desk. Optimus was known for his tantrums on rare occasions and would swipe all the pads from his desk. He apologized once for frightening her once. Rusti could not recall why he was upset that day.

Something wet plipped on her cheek and slowly dribbled down.

Wait a minute. She was here mentally only, not physically. She touched her cheek, smearing the wetness over her face. She stared at her hand and found blue liquid discoloring her fingers. Transformer lifeblood (hemotricity)?

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. A pool of blood stretched over the metal panels, seeping through them as though they were of organic materials.

It came from the upper levels. Rusti mentally scanned the fifth level.

Nothing. There were a few offices where a couple of other officers worked. There was one meeting hall where Kup prepared a future presentation.

The last level further was the garden and Rusti winced, dreading to go up there, though she did not know why.

She passed through the door from the elevator. The atrium felt cold, the windows blowing in cold Oregon spring wind. The plants were black and blue to her mental vision. One to the west glowed in soft white. That was the krethas, one of several alien plants given to Prime by an off-world government not too many months ago. A young morphobot snarled in its restlessness.

_Optimus?_ she softly called. _Optimus, Magnus is looking for you._

Sounds of dripping liquid came from the left. Maybe just water. Rusti pressed forward, dreading every mental step she took here. Ghosts lived here, or so she thought. The room was cold with emptiness and silence. Maybe it would be more cheerful if Prime considered installing a bird feeder.

A dark hand grasped her and she swallowed a scream. Rusti tried to race back to the med lab and to Cody. But the hand would not let go. She could not catch her breath and her consciousness lapsed for a moment then returned, like a light blinking on then off and on again. Then her form stretched across reality itself, slimmer and slimmer as if she were being pulled into a black hole.

Alarmed, she realized that she was being dragged into a vortex-the very one she managed to escape earlier!

No breath, not even enough to whimper for help. Her form slipped down a hole as though she were being swallowed. She tried to gain a hold along a wall with fingernails that did not exist. She could not breathe! Down, down, down.

Stop.

The terrible sensation terminated, trapping Rusti in a long hallway constructed of ancient Cybertroid alloys. Power conduits lining the metal walls, floor and ceiling shed minute light, softly illuminating the world around her in a freakish blue color. Age bore on the metal, rounding it at the corners, greying its otherwise smooth surface.

Frosty damp air touched her and the girl felt exposed. Above her, huge cobwebs like soft silk rope, draped corner to corner. Dust powdered the floor. She held her arms close; someone watched her.

"This isn't any part of the city I know of." she whispered to herself.

At the sound of a soft snap, a small electric charge traveled up a power conduit. She watched it fly until it disappeared past the ceiling.

Where was she? Who brought her here? Rusti did not know if it were safe to even move.

A soft cold voice whispered through the stillness. Its indecipherable verbiage faded like a dream.

She froze. It wasn't familiar, sounding neither like Optimus or Roddi. She waited in hopes of hearing it again. But after several empty seconds, Rusti gathered her courage, "Who-who's there?" she asked, cautious to keep her voice level,

"Optimus? Roddi?

Rusti kept turning from wall to corridor back to the other wall in search of clue or evidence to her whereabouts. Finally she reached to touch a wall.

Not there.

She narrowed her eyes. "No way." she said out loud. The touch was too familiar. And other voices, other sounds came to her, but those were far more distant than the first and far from creepy.

The Matrix. But how? Who dragged her here? This was hallowed, forbidden ground, or so she believed. She tried to convince herself she was not really here, not conscious and maybe dreaming. But her soul screamed the answer. She was here.

A murmur of thunder rounded the hall and a soft cool breeze touched her. Wait. That wasn't wind. It was someone . . . She opened her mouth to call out again when a whisper reverberated in the dark. Faint. At first. Now it intensified, blasting like a bomb at close range. Clamorous. Rusti fell to her knees, clasping her ears tightly, slamming her eyes shut. She bowed over to protect her insides from bursting.

It was as if an Angel screamed. Thunder, louder than any sound she ever heard, exploded in her face, ran right through her and wrapped itself around and smothered her. It echoed, slicing into the core of her innermost self. She screamed but could not hear herself.

Pain accompanied the sound. Pain touched her then burned her alive. It raked her with poisoned claws and she thought it would tear her to pieces.

Then it tapered to a whisper, trailing off, moving down the corridor, searching somehow for respite. It left her shaking uncontrollably and Rusti could not move for several moments.

Someone called her name and she tried to sit up. No go. Get back to Med Lab! The girl struggled to return to consciousness and the physical world. But Rusti was trapped.

She hugged herself tightly and tried to reassure herself everything was fine. A dream! It had to be! Maybe she was sick and didn't know she had been for quite sometime. Yes, that was it! She was sick and just needed to wake up.

Wake up! Wake up! She opened her eyes.

But the dark, cool corridor had not changed. The strange cobwebs still dangled. The metal panels remained old and the power conduits were yet silent. Something dragged her here and intended to keep her. Was this, could this indeed be the Matrix?

No! She couldn't possibly be there! That was sacred ground, meant only to interface with Autobot leaders. Not even Decepticon leaders were permitted there.

Wasn't that right? Or was it that it had simply never been tried before?

Stay calm. This fear was ridiculous. After all, she was here only in her mind. But if that were the case, why was she afraid that Something brought her here to kill her?

Face the fear. Running from it only makes it worse. Rusti forced herself forward on hands and knees. She trembled terribly, her mind reeling from the bloodcurdling scream. She crossed one cold metallic panel after another until she touched one that softly glowed. It did not light the whole corridor, but it lit enough to assure her she was nowhere in or around Fort Max. She saw herself in the floor panel, but the background did not reflect the darkness around her. She lifted her hand to touch the reflection and startled when her reflection's face turned from her and disappeared.

Stunned, she sat there a moment, questioning whether or not she actually saw something. After a moment, Rusti decided it did not matter.

She crawled a little more before feeling strong enough to stand and continue the journey by foot. The corridor around her started to round off at the corner. A few yards further, the hallway swung in a right-handed direction and ended into a great landscape of hills and sweeping planes. Neither rigid wall, blocky pillar nor door could be seen for possibly miles around. The world above remained dark and dead-still. Drab cold blues and sad greys discolored the metal. It looked as if something drank the life out of whatever land this might have been. Rusti kept walking about, hoping there lay an exit somewhere.

With the expanse of this plain, the girl thought for sure there was a way for her to escape. The Matrix was unimaginably huge and somehow she was bound to find a way to return to the physical world.

Rusti trudged up a soft sloping mound and found it just a bit taller then other parts of the landscape. She did not like this place. Sweeping, curling areas, sloping landscapes and darkness was all that met her saddening gaze.

Except . . . except for one place where a figure stood with arms outstretched. It seemed as though the figure's arms were connected to the sweeping, upturned flooring.

Rusti felt it wise to approach with caution at first. She was a stranger in a holy place. But the closer she came, the more convinced she knew the figure. And two yards later, she knew exactly who that was. For the first time in her life, the girl wished she could transform and speed her way toward him. As it was, she picked up her pace, racing over hills and across pencil-grey flooring. She prayed with each step nothing would keep her from getting to him.

Optimus Prime was barely alive. Now she understood why she had felt nothing from him.

His head hung in shut-down. No light flickered in his optics. Frightened, she laid her hands on his chest plates and waited.

There. She felt the familiar soft vibrations of a laser core. But they were weak. Rusti's heart pounded so that she thought it would burst.

She ordered herself to be brave and stroked his face plate. Oh, cold to the touch! "Optimus?" she whispered. She rested an ear to his chest, struggling to determine his condition. But, foolish girl that she was, she was neither medic nor mechanic. All she could do was find a way to sooth her own fears.

"Optimus, it's Rusti. Optimus?" Her mousy voice pleaded in childish tones in the silence, sounding too loudly. Rusti laid her hands on either side of his head. Carefully she lifted his head and gazed into his darkened optics. No life. She withdrew and found her hand covered in blood.

What the hell?

"HUMAN."

The voice startled her and Rusti's gaze darted from one side of the alien landscape to another. The deep-throated voice came from everywhere and nowhere. The panels on the ground and sweeping mounds bled in the familiar soft blue fluids.

Her eyes repeated their gaze left to right and back, even behind Optimus' dark unconscious form.

Bubbles of boiling liquid broke the silence and Rusti's head snapped to her left. She wanted to see what made the sound, but did not want to leave Optimus alone. She dared a foot, or two, but kept one hand on him to make sure he did not disappear. Fortunately the sound was not far from her and Prime. Down hill the metal panels liquefied and up from them rose a figure lying flat on his back immersed in liquid metal. The liquid dripped off like so much water.

Rusti did not need to see the figure's color to recognize Rodimus.

She was about to leave Optimus for a closer look when the wind returned and with it a multitude of voices. They wept and moaned and the sound of their anguish filled Rusti with a painful emptiness. She slowly dropped to her knees again, clutching her hand at her chest. "Stop," she whispered, "be still . . ."

And she envisioned the desert and the gravestone shifting names, millions of them. She started bleeding inside.

She tried to scream but whatever power held her here had stolen the strength from her voice. Rusti pounded the floor. She lost her voice! She growled deep in her throat until she could hear herself again. She drew a long breath, shut her eyes tight and screamed. The sound of her voice broke the silence, the wind, the moaning and weeping faded.

INCONSEQUENTIAL NUISANCE. DISREGARD CURRENT STATUS. PROCEED WITH ADVANCEMENT.

Again the voice came from everywhere and nowhere. But it was tainted with Optimus' voice. Rusti's body felt like melting rubber and her nerves were shot. How could images and sounds be so physically real if they were only in her mind?

"WHO ARE YOU!"

No answer. The girl forced herself back to her feet and with a second glance at Optimus, looked to find Rodimus again. He lay on solid flooring now. His form was darkened cold greys though Rusti could just make out faint reds and orange about his chest, arms and legs.

The darkness hovering over the world lifted from lifeless black to dismal grey. She looked to her own hands to see if it was light that tried to penetrate into the dying or dead world but her own coloring did not indicate light from above. She was in a world so surreal that laws of physics and light guarding the physical world could not be applied.

The Voice came back, again deep and mixed with Optimus

Prime's own voice: "I AM. THAT. WHICH IS. VOID. DESOLATE. VOID. DESOLATE."

She startled and stood protectively in front of Prime, glancing left then right. "Optimus, is that you?" She spun about and gazed into his face, half expecting a set of glowing optics and a face plate shadowed by viral influence. But the sad figure before her remained unconscious and helpless. It hurt to see him like this and if she could, Rusti would have ripped the bonds that held him there.

But maybe Optimus was not even in this form. Maybe it was a shadow of what was left of his own dying spark. And that thought hurt her more than the awful place she stood trapped in. Rusti choked with tears, expecting to cry. Instead, she gasped for breath.

T'K ROOSKAP. RRUK G'KYE. EEEEMM AHT AHT WHISH NAK.

Rusti's eyes subconsciously searched the dark sky above her, struggling to translate what the Voice said in an old Autobot dialect. "Conquest . . ." she whispered. "Pieces of the board." She lifted her voice, hoping to be heard, "Is this a game? It's not funny!"

"I. DO. NOT. PLAY. GAMES."

THAT was clearly Optimus' voice. He was here, all around her, caught up in darkness and . . . and **inside** Void and Desolate.

"Optimus!" she called, a little braver than before, "Why are you keeping me here?"

From the borders or joints in the panel flooring, a needle-point appendage connected to a knee joint lifted up and out. The leg of the creature was four times her size. Rusty thought she swallowed air and she stumbled back, landing hard on the ground.

Another sharp appendage forced its way up through the bordering cracks and that was followed by a two-dimensional image which pulled the rest of its spidery form like a ghost through a wall. Then the creature fanned out into a complete three-dimensional form, growing larger until it filled her vision.

"STRONG SPIRIT. FEED. WELL. OTHERS FEED A WHILE. YOU. WILL HAVE. YOUR TURN. EVENTUALLY."

She gazed up, up, up.

Its legs tapered to a fine firm point, sharp enough to use as a weapon. A long body shaped like a prism brought the four legs together. At the end protruded a squared tail with a long stinger. The front of the body built upward in a V-shape and an inner thorax sat inside an outer thorax, capped with a chest contrived of heavy armor. No arms or hands or anything resembling them protruded from the chest area.

No face. The head came as a triangle tipped downward and behind that, a long horn tapered outward into a fine flat point. The neck was completely hidden inside the chest.

Rusti felt her heart stop. This was neither Optimus Prime nor any form of the Matrix persona. She was facing the Virus itself.

From behind the Virus, Rodimus weakly stirred and weakly moaned, "Russsti . . . run."

The monster snapped around faster than light. Its triangular head stretched up, its neck allotting for additional length, making the Virus even taller. Rodimus managed to sit up and he rubbed the side of his head. Rusti could tell he was in terrible pain and fatigue. He seemed heedless of the freakish creature impending over him like a cat ready to pounce.

Rusti's voice caught in her throat, her eyes went wide and she was paralyzed with awe and terror.

Rodimus raised his knees and rested one hand on them. Instantly the Virus plunged its head straight into his chest plate. Rodimus screamed, wreathing in shock and pain. The Virus' body glowed brightly as it fed on the Autobot leader's life force.

Unable to either cry or scream, Rusti used what adrenaline she had and scampered to her feet. She managed one mournful glance back at Optimus' unmoving form and ran.

The terrible screeching wind came again, chasing her all the way down the ancient dark corridor. All the anguished voices cried after her until she thought she would go mad.

She tried to cover her ears and closed her eyes to block the noise from her mind. But the mistake cost her. Rusti didn't see the floor open in front of her and she fell, shrieking so that her throat ached.

She shot up in bed, screaming and weeping; screaming so that she could neither see nor hear Cody or her parents trying to calm her down. Rusti rocked herself on the bed, tightly wrapped her arms about her body and shifted to hide her face in her hands.

Sweat and tears drenched her hair, clothes and bed sheets. It felt like blood. Hysteria would not let her go. She screamed and cried until Dr. Cynyr pressed a hypo into her neck. Her body fell limp, but her eyes were wide with shock. Cody and Netty laid her down and tried to comfort her trembling.

The doctor gave her another shot and though her body relaxed, her mind whirled in tangled turmoil.

It-it was-no. She had no words for it. She had never seen anything so . . . graphically real. Nothing. Nothing. How could she possibly sleep? How?

---------------------------------------

Rusti woke to dimmed lights and a dry fluffy pillow. A giant familiar figure sat at the foot of her bed against the opposite wall. The weak lighting shadowed his rich orange and red colors to soft hues of blues and greys. Bright blue optics greeted and a pair of lip components turned upward in a weak, wry smile.

Roddi. Alive and okay.

Vile memories struck her and Rusti's heart sank. She wept again and could not stop. He spoke her name in the same tender voice that would sing her to sleep at night. But even that bit of sweetness could not comfort her.

Rusti sat up and covered her face, unable to suppress images of the horror she experienced. Shame touched her. She ran from them. How cowardly was that? But in spite of her failure, Roddi sat there, watching over her. She couldn't look at him. In the face of danger, she had run away.

Roddi silently crawled to the bedside, gathered her, blankets and all, and held her close. He or Optimus used to do this when she had nightmares. She laid her head against his warm metal chest plate, grateful, so very grateful to be held. But she did not deserve it and somehow felt she should be punished, not cuddled like a lost and frightened child.

Roddi said nothing. No singing, no humming. He brought the blankets close about her and sat silently. Rusti's tears withered into an occasional shaking. Her breath shuddered until she fell kindly to sleep.

Dawn greeted her in sick bay with a bit of early morning sun before spring clouds tried to take over. Rodimus sat comfortably on the floor next to the window. Daniel/Arcee sat near the door. Roddi sat with his knees propped, a cup of energon rested between his hands. He stared out the window, not once exchanging words with the Headmaster.

Rusti felt lighter. Her body finally stopped its trembling. In fact, her stomach asked for food. Pancakes and bacon and eggs covered in sweet maple syrup sounded yummy. She breathed deeply and stretched carefully.

Both Autobots snapped to her attention and Arcee smiled gracefully, almost glowing. "Hey, Sweetheart." Yes. It was definitely Arcee that greeted her.

Rusti smiled sheepishly, knowing what the adults would say to her desire for syrup-covered eggs. "Hi." She did not want to address her father, but knew she'd be admonished for addressing Arcee instead. She turned to Rodimus with one question: "Is, is Optimus . . . " she didn't even want to say it.

"He's okay." Roddi reported.

Relief assailed her. Rusti sighed.

"But they almost lost him. When I flat-lined, so did he. They took him out of ICU just this evening."

"Flat-lined? ICU? Evening?" Rusti echoed. Puzzlement etched worry lines into her brow and out the corner of her eye, the girl watched Arcee frown. She knew it wasn't her, but Daniel who frowned.

Upon reading the interaction between Headmaster and daughter, Rodimus sent his solemn gaze out the window. "We'll tell you later, Kiddo. Right now, rest up. Eat."

An alien nurse peeped with a brief smile toward Rusti. She offered the same smile to Daniel/Arcee. "Mr. Witwicky, there is a communiqué from your wife."

Arcee reluctantly took to her feet. This meant she would have to leave entirely. She glanced at Rusti a last time. "Get lots of sleep, Sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I will, Arcee. Good-bye." She waited until the Headmaster was out of earshot then turned to Rodimus. "Ultra Magnus was worried, Roddi." her voice sounded so little in her own ears. "Nobody knew where you or Optimus were."

His optics flashed. "They said the very last thing you said out loud was where they were to find Prime. After that, you passed out." Roddi fell quiet again, staring out the window to the night-fallen world. He sipped his energon a couple of times before turning back to the girl, "what you did was very dangerous."

She pouted. "I was looking for Optimus. He wasn't in his office so I searched the atrium. It was there that something sucked me in. I tried to get back to the med lab." The distant memory called to her from far away. She tried not to recall too much of it, but she remembered the first part and hoped to never repeat the experience. "I was in the Matrix," she said softly. "I didn't know it looked like that."

"Part of it." Rodimus confirmed. "But it's certainly not supposed to look the way it did to you."

She lowered her head then her brows wrinkled in puzzlement. "How do you know that? The Virus attacked you-" she snapped up, her grey eyes wide. "The chip! Cody's blocking chip! It worked! That's what broke Its hold on me! Ohmigod!"

But Rodimus didn't seem so excited. His gaze drifted from her, "in time." he murmured sadly.

That was not the kind of reaction she thought he'd have. The girl tilted her head slightly, "Wh--isn't it working, Roddi?"

Rodimus sighed wearily and turned wholly to her, setting the cup on the floor. "Your dad will kick my ass for telling you. Optimus Prime tried to commit suicide, Rusti. They found him in the atrium." Roddi shook his head. "I guess something happened and he either could not complete the task or something else intervened, acting like a backlash, knocking him unconscious instead. I really don't know."

Rusti cold not swallow, but she thought she knew. The darkness tried to choke the life from her. It was so overwhelming. "Optimus . . . " She wanted to just stay in that quiet world and hold him. But the real world was never that kind. Rusti blinked, returning from the memory. "I don't think it was the Matrix, Roddi. Um, I blacked out in school day before yesterday. I guess the school didn't call you about it." She added a frown, considering the moronic administration probably left a note at her mom's computer. Rusti was going to hear all about it sooner or later-guaranteed.

"Three days ago." the Autobot leader corrected.

She blinked at him. "What?"

"They gave you a sedative. You were hysterical."

Disbelief wrote across her expression. Out for three days? Emotional overload had driven her right to the edge. How did she manage to come back? Rusti laid her hand over her chest. She didn't just see the Virus attack Rodimus, she felt it. She felt death in the screams emanating from the walls of the Matrix. "I saw things . . . I, I knew Optimus was trying to get to me and I held him as long as I could." she hid half her face with one hand, closing her eyes.

Roddi scooted to her bedside. His optics shaded down. "What counts now is that he's alive and you're okay."

Her lips lined hard and she stared at him through her fingers, "That-that Thing, that horrible thing knew me, Roddi. I felt so . . . naked, violated."

Rodimus winced at the ugly word. Optimus said the very same thing. "Get some rest," he finally replied, "I'll check in on you later. I promise."

Rusti frowned. "I don't think I can sleep, Roddi." she choked, "I'm afraid I'll see it again in my dreams." She trembled again, recalling the darkened world and the terrible screams and moans drifting through the air, chasing after her. "I-I can't." her voice tightened.

The Second Prime Reached out for her, hushing her down with his mind. He Kissed her and with a deep breath, cradled her troubled mind. Rusti's back relaxed as her mind calmed. Rudi stayed until she was able to untangle the distress on her own. The girl snuggled under soft covers, comforted that she was not alone in her torment.

Rodimus waited a good thirty minutes. He tucked the covers under and drew her curtains closed before quietly leaving the room.

Rusti woke to whispering voices. They rose and fell in pitch and tone, angry and fearful. The room, dark with drawn curtains, reminded her distantly of the dreadful place she escaped from.

. . . she ran from.

She ran away.

Her eyes peeled opened and stared at a giant shadow splayed across the wall before her. It stood on four powerful legs. The triangular head immediately reminded her of the virus. She wanted to scream except that she had neither the strength nor the desire to react. She blinked once and it disappeared but the memory haunted her, cold like the tendrils of a lingering.

Now that the shadow faded, Rusti realized she was surrounded by her family. Her mother sat in a chair against the far wall. Her father sat in a chair near the door and Aunt Delphra lounged near the window where Roddi sat not too long ago. That was sacred space and Rusti actually resented her aunt sitting where someone she loved sat not too long ago. In fact, her whole room was private and not one of the adults had a right to be there, crowding her space, scrutinizing her world with blatant disapproval.

The walls and floor were made of a metal both ancient and sacred.

Rusti blinked back the memory and tried to concentrate on the present moment.

"Resonna?" her father called.

There's that ugly name again. They might as well as call her Flo, Eugenia or Hildegarde. She stared at him with little interest and did not greet him.

He did not smile, either and seemed to have lost whatever he was going to say. Daniel Witwicky turned to his wife, either expecting Netty to say something in turn, or give him something to talk about. But Netty merely started at her youngest daughter. "Um. It's good that you're awake," Daniel looked as awkward as he felt. "You missed the conference."

Rusti did not realize her gaze pierced right through him. His attempt to greet her cheerfully and welcome her back to physical reality failed more miserably than she did at story-problems in math. Her brows went up just a bit. "Guess I had better things to do, Dad." Well, she probably should not have said that, but his clumsiness deserved it.

Unrecognizable things dangled in tangled webs from the ceiling. The air hung cold and moist.

Rusti blinked and slightly shook her head of the memory. Who was in charge of her head, anyway? Why was the memory pressing against her like a persistent wind? Her eyes fluttered on their own as if some part of her did not want to believe she lived this moment.

Her mother set her purse on the floor and stood, smoothing out wrinkles from her blouse and skirt. She primped like a prima donna poodle, Rusti thought, afraid to look anything less than perfect. "We've been worried about you, Sweetheart." Her voice rang of lies, but Rusti tried to convince herself otherwise. "You haven't said much in a couple of days."

She nodded and her lips lined hard. "Roddi said I was out for three days." She longed to add a smart remark to the end of that sentence.

Delphra eyed her suspiciously, and Rusti wondered what her aunt was so mad about. Not that it took much to piss Delphra off to begin with. Maybe, the girl thought, she was snoring. Delphra's face beamed hard as though it were carved from stone. Her glare made Rusti uncomfortable. "Had you been home, where you belong, none of this would have occurred."

It had needlepoint feet that could have been easily used as a weapon. It had a triangular face, but no eyes, no mouth, nothing resembling any creature, alien or otherwise. It stood higher than Optimus Prime. Spider-like, its body was shaped like a prism. A tail curled up, armed with a stinger.

Stop! Stop! Rusti shook her head, forgetting her aunt just made a rude comment. What was going on with her head? FORGET ABOUT THE DAMNED EXPERIENCE!

Okay, she told herself, just act normal. Forget Delphra, move on. Her eyes fluttered again and she wondered why she was having such a difficult time controlling her optic nerves. Maybe it was a side effect of Cynyr's sedative. She stared at her dad, finding her movements slow and deliberate. "How's everything?" Taking second glance at their expressions, Rusti feared the adults would pounce on her like starving vultures.

Daniel nodded with lined lips. Rusti was glad he was not wearing that creepy helmet. "It's good, Resonna," he answered a bit too cheerfully for his kind of personality. "In fact, your mother, Aunt Delphra and I thought we'd ask to have you stay a couple weeks with us." He paused a moment then added: "Wouldn't you like that?"

No, she would not. And the end of his comment was not really either a request or a question. They were plotting to get her out of Autobot City once and for all. Not going to happen, if Rusti could help it. She was NOT going to leave Optimus.

She stood as high as Optimus and held his bowed head. She gazed into his optics, dark with unconsciousness.

Oh that was so sad! And Rust felt her insides clench with sorrow. Don't cry, dammit! Whatever happens, whatever memory surfaces, DON'T CRY.

Her eyes flitted from her father to her mother and back to Daniel to intentionally keep from acknowledging Delphra was in the same space-time continuum.

Rusti stared at her hands. She Touched him and felt almost nothing. "Optimus tried to kill himself." she murmured weakly. The thought left her sad and empty. How? How could someone so powerful, so great with so much conviction in life, want to commit suicide? Optimus wasn't like that.

Still, she had Touched him and felt

"Resonna?" Netty smiled tolerantly. "Your father asked a question."

Rusti looked back to her father. "About what?"

"You're coming home for a while. It's not safe for you here at Fort Max."

Delphra's high heels tapped the floor through the carpeting. Her long arms set themselves on her hips in a posture of authority-an authority Rusti refused to recognize. "It's a splendid idea." she agreed with cat-like tones. Rusti stared at her blankly. She hated Delphra's short black hair. "You'll be among your own people for a while. After all, if you hadn't been here, none of this wouldn't have happened. Not this incident and not your amnesia." The bitch had no proof of that and Rusty frowned at her accusation.

"Aunt Delphra's right." Netty agreed. "It would be good for you to get away from the city for a while. Come and stay with us. We'll go shopping and visit the zoo."

No, Rusti thought dourly, the pet store . . . on Netty's lunch break from work.

The Virus plunged its head into Rodimus' chest plate. He wailed and thrashed while the Virus' body glowed, feeding on the Autobot's life force.

She ran away from it. She ran far, far away. She kept running and kept running, abandoning her two dear friends in to a terrible fate. What a horrible ugly thing she had done!

Swallow it. Don't worry about what happened. But her heart would not allow for forgiveness. Optimus' form was cold and lifeless. The least she could have done was find a way to release him from his bonds.

Why didn't she think of that?

Back to reality, here. "Um, no, Mom. Sorry."

"What do you mean 'no?" Netty's face contorted into a mix of puzzlement and disappointment.

Rusti drew her breath, picking up her courage: "no, I don't want to leave Fort Max."

**That** would not go well with her mother, who was instantly offended. But how often had Rusti tried to ask her to go on picnics or see a movie?

Daniel stepped up to the proverbial 'argument plate', "we've already discussed this, Resonna. You're to pack your things and we'll leave as soon as you are well enough."

"Discuss what?" And her eyes batted again, making her look like she was pretending to be a smart-ass. "With whom? Did you talk to Roddi or Optimus?" His aggressive stance only made her more determined not to cooperate. He was not going to push her around. She was, after all, sixteen.

"No," his voice raised a notch, indicating he was losing patience. "We've just agreed to take you home."

"But I've already told you-"

"GODDAMIT, RESONNA, HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET THINGS THROUGH THAT THICK HEAD OF YOURS!"

Neither of Rusti's grandparents ever lost their temper like her father. She wondered why it took so little to get him riled. But all his shouting and fit-throwing had little if any affect on her. He frightened her before when she was little. She vowed to never cow to him again. Her eyes narrowed. "I'm NOT going! I'm NOT LEAVING OPTIMUS ALONE!"

Oops. That didn't go well. The last thing she needed to remind them was of her love for the Autobot leader. Now the real argument was about to commence. Rusti braced for verbal impact.

Daniel rubbed his face with his metal gloved hand-the first sign of rage. He closed his eyes then opened them again, "what?" His voice came quieter than it should have, as though he hoped he did not hear her right.

Rusti intentionally slowed her speech: "I. Am. Staying. With. Optimus."

"What the hell for?" His eyes narrowed, dark and menacing, his face solidified with a clenched jaw as though he were a god not to be offended.

Sarcasm time, the girl thought, "Oh, I don't know," she nearly sang. "Golly, dad, maybe it's because I care about him?" And she hung her jaw open as though what she said was supposed to be surprising.

Both Netty and Delphra sighed impatiently. Daniel stared at his daughter a moment longer. "I don't know how to get this through your head, Resonna but HE CANNOT LOVE YOU!" Daniel Witwicky shouted so that his own wife shot him a glare, "How many times do we have to go THROUGH THIS WITH YOU? You seem to think of him as some kind of hero, some kind of god-like figure with noble intentions and goodness practically leaking out of his orifices but once again, I'm telling you he knows nothing of love."

"Don't TALK about him like that!" Rusti really should not have shouted in turn. Her voice threatened to crack.

Netty threw up her hands and turned away. Delphra looked more determined than ever. "Excuse me, may I say something here?"

Daniel's anger melted about two degrees and he took one mini-step back. Rusti ground her teeth and did not look at the witch. But it did not seem to phase Delphra. She positioned herself in front of the girl so that she was all Rusti could see in front of her. "Young lady," she started with that irritatingly snobby patronizing voice, "What do you plan to do with your life? Here you sit, whining about the life of a machine while your sister is about to finish her second semester at the academy. You will be out of high school soon and no matter how we have tried to encourage you, you have failed to choose a course for your life. And, Resonna, time is running short."

For a moment, Delphra's own shadow seemed to take on the shape of a Quintesson. It was even worse when the Quintesson-shadow turned and looked at her through the eyes of the Face of Hate. Rusti thought her blood would freeze and she diverted her eyes toward one of her music posters.

She abandoned Optimus and Rodimus to what could have been their death. What a horrible ugly child! She was apparently brave enough to keep them from killing each other several months ago and now she ran away from . . . a bug! A BUG!

Of all things to run from! What a stupid, selfish little girl! She ran away because she was scared!

That was cruel and uncaring. Remorse ate into her heart and Rusti tried to focus on the three vulturous adults surrounding her. Regret from within or harassment from without? Not much of a good day.

"I have thought about teaching," Rusti piped to get Delphra out of her face.

"Teaching's a descent job." Daniel nodded approvingly, although he was still hard with anger.

Delphra grunted with more disapproval. "Teaching won't get you very far career-wise."

"So?" Rusti challenged, exasperated. "Not all of us need to make a billion dollars a year to be happy, you know. If I'm happy, what does it matter?"

"Resonna, don't talk to your aunt like that," Netty instantly admonished. Rusti would have stuck her tongue at her mother had Delphra immediately rebounded.

The perfect bitch smiled evenly. "Sweet Cheeks, the only thing that will make you happy is finding a good man and having children."

Rusti could not believe what she just heard. Delphra was certainly in no position to say such things, especially since her own marriage fell to pieces years ago. The girl's nerves itched. Her thoughts scampered back to Optimus and Rodimus and her stomach ached with guilt. She just wanted to be left alone in her misery.

Netty smiled. "Marriage is good, sweetheart. But I think it's important that you plan your future, too. What exactly would you be teaching?"

That was more of a trap than a question, since Rusti's real expertise was in art. But the girl was not going to play this head game by their rules. "Science." She answered a bit coldly.

The three of them stared at her in uneasy silence.

Defiantly the girl squared her shoulders, raised her chin. This would piss them off: "I'll be teaching Transformer physiology." All three stared at her as though she had just rolled off a long sentence of nothing but filthy words.

Delphra reacted first, snorting and turning away in disgust. "I do not believe this!" she swung back around, pointing at the girl, "Is that all you think about?" she snapped. "Don't you think there's life outside all this?" she waved her arms in the air, indicating the city. "There's another world out there with a good deal more to offer than those tin cans ever thought!"

The Autobots offered her a universe of ideas, history and experiences. What did Earth-or her family for that matter-have to offer against that? The three adults before her had no clue, not one solitary clue as to what was going on in her life. Their narrow viewpoints kept them from seeing more than their jobs or their little lives. Rusti experienced more in her meager childhood than the three of them combined. "I belong here." she calmly, quietly replied. She realized now, too, that what they were doing to her was nothing short of psychological bullying.

Delphra charged the bed, splaying her hands on the soft mattress, "You don't know what you're talking about, girl," she snarled. "Those metal bastards don't hold a candle when it comes to flesh and blood. They're just talking toasters, automobiles with arms and legs. All they know how to do is eat and fight. That is their entire existence. And I don't know what it will take to get that through that fluffy cloud you call a brain, but you're being stupid. Those monsters don't love you; they're playing mind games with you, Resonna. Get a grip!"

Delphra's face was ugly, her eyes resembled darts and every one hit Rusti like a poison-tipped dagger. Rusti's eyes narrowed dangerously. Delphra had no idea what she was saying. She had no clue. Her entire existence was dedicated to fulfilling her power lust.

Rusti's inner turmoil bordered on rage. How could Delphra say those things when she had never understood the link between Rusti and the two Autobot leaders? Who was she to say the Transformers could not love? Oh, they understood love. They understood it on a level most humans could not.

Rusti leaned forward to make sure Delphra understood every word and she spoke softly and deliberately, "I have loved more deeply than any man who has ever screwed you."

A roar shouted in her ears and the next minute Rusti's cheek caught on fire, her head spun slightly. She touched her cheek and looked at her hand. Nothing. Delphra stood. Satisfaction blanketed the vengeful expression. She could not debate Rusti's argument, so she ended it with a slap. Rusti kept her composure, wishing she could rampage the bitch Dinobot-style. But she knew violence solved nothing and that was certainly true where her aunt was concerned.

She frowned, not willing to look any of them in the eyes. She didn't see her mother grab Delphra and push her away.

Her father took a step forward, as much surprised at her reaction as he was at Delphra's. "Resonna--"

But Rusti turned from them entirely, laying on her left side toward the window overlooking the western side of Fort Max. "Just go away." she muttered miserably. "I'm tired."

Netty sat on the bedside and laid her hand on her daughter's shoulder. But all it did was make Rusti feel patronized. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I'll talk with Aunt Delphra, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay, Mom." She yanked the blankets closer, trying to shield herself from her mother's touch.

Netty kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart." she whispered. "I'll--I'll talk to you later."

Rusti said nothing and just laid there long after they left. She wished she could vomit and get all the pain out of her guts. What was their problem, anyway? If they were supposedly so supportive of her, why did they insist on hanging around that witch? She sighed. Perhaps she could sleep off all the anger and resentment. She drew a first deep breath. It really was no use in being angry at them. They were what they were. She was who and what she was. But why couldn't they just leave her alone? Was there a problem with that?

Inwardly she rolled her eyes. Why couldn't she have a normal family?

---------------------------------------

Stupid little girl, run, run, as fast as you can! Rusti dashed down hallway of cold metal panels. Other than herself, there was not one other soul. The further Rusti walked, the more the metal changed color until all the panels became glass. Now she tried to walk cautiously and thought about taking off her shoes. But the very next step caused the floor to crack.

She froze. It cracked further.

She knew she was going to fall. If she fell, most likely she'd end up tied to a wall like Optimus; a captive of the Virus. Wasn't the blocking chip working? Wasn't it doing any good?

Optimus tried to purge his pain through death. The thought distracted her from her momentary peril. She laid her hand on her chest. How so sad!

Oh, that thought hurt worse because she knew what cost she'd personally pay for his death. Rusti sank to her knees in grief, ignoring another series of cracks on the floor.

She jumped and scampered. Run away little girl! Don't let the big Boogeyman get you! Little coward! Couldn't even think of someone other than yourself long enough to see if you could undo the clasps that held him. What kind of a coward was she, anyway? Powerless little victim!

Rusti wept in anguish and lifted her face to a dark brooding sky. Her hands slid down her cheeks and above her loomed the Virus. Its pencil-thin legs surrounded her like a cage. Its chest loomed above her like a formidable rock wrought from the forges of hell.

Its head turned down, considering her for a moment before lowering closer and closer. She felt It tug strength from her body. It desired to give her an eternal kiss. She would forever belong to It.

It touched her lips with corner of its maw and Rusti's heart sank into a vortex of darkness. Cold immobilized her heart so that no man, no professional psychologist, could bring her back.

She thought the Virus longed to enter her, possess her, devour her a little at a time. But at the drowned sound of Optimus' voice, the Virus left her and shattered like crystal.

Rusti shot up, her eyes fluttering away the reality of the dream. What! Where the hell did that-What a horrible thing!

She wanted to scream but her voice was caught in tears and terror. She swallowed air and coughed and sputtered, finally managing to cry out loud. She wept fitfully, flopping back into her pillow, drenching her hair with tears. She sat up, gripped her pillow tightly and cried into it, squealing in emotional distress. Help me! Help me! Her mind screamed, but no words surfaced to her throat. Rusti curled up in a tight ball, gripping all the blankets as tightly about her form as she could get them. But she felt no safer.

Go to sleep, she told herself. Go to sleep, it was all a dream and in sleep, there would be darkness and safety. But her mind argued with her rationality. It attacked her in her sleep. No more rest. No more safe sweet sleep. Rusti realized she trembled uncontrollably. No, silly girl, don't just lie there. Get help. Get up and go for help!

Yes, that would go over well, 'excuse me, the boogeyman just tried to kiss me and fill me with darkness, can you help me?'

There would be no help. She envisioned herself a walking corpse, incapable of emotion. She would rot from the inside out, shying away from whatever light life gave her. She would waste away until she was no longer even a person.

And just think, it was all because she ran away when she could have saved someone she loved. She deserved to live in pain. She deserved to die a slow death, trapped in the darkness of the Virus' lust.

"Oh God," Rusti managed to cry out, "somebody help me!"

A spark of light caught her eye and Rusti struggled to make sense of it through hot and cold tears. Light from the dark world outside managed to peek through a fold in her curtains and touched her dresser mirror. Dangling from the top corner there was the necklace Optimus gave her for her tenth birthday. It was like receiving a ring from Prince Charming. A tiny inscription was scrawled along the backside "Noktu", an old expression meaning 'no matter what'.

It was a word of promise.

No matter what? No matter what happened? Rusti's heart and breath quickened and she all but jumped from bed. Grasping the necklace, the girl also snatched up her robe and slippers and left her room.

Without knowing where he was, Rusti made a beeline for Optimus. No one told her Rodimus insisted they put him in his own quarters for privacy. Rusti made sure no one saw her marching to the elevator aiming for the next floor up. Her heart pounded. She walked fast, hoping to calm her quaking body.

Her heart beat fiercely. Her nerves were so tight the girl was sure she was a candidate for cardiac arrest. Rusti stared at the set of huge doors, feeling more like an insect.

She did not deserve to be loved by him. He was so good to her, and she repaid his love by running away. Failure filled her and her lips trembled as tears came back. She could not breathe, could not swallow, could not face him. "I'm sorry." she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Go back to your room and die.

She didn't deserve his promises. Rusti turned away, heartbroken.

"Ruuusssti." That was the softest of whispers.

She felt it more than heard it. She paused, heart pounding so that her chest hurt. She drowned in anxiety and wished she could crawl away and hide.

_Rusti, talk to me. _

It was the sweetest thing she heard and felt all day. That voice, his voice, was so compelling. She hesitated. Was it that she imagine it? Was it that she wanted to hear it? She bowed her head, her red hair fell about her face, the curls bounced slightly. She slid her hands into her robe pockets. No one else was around. Who would bother checking the halls at three in the morning, anyway?

Her feet moved as though without her permission and there she was in front of the door again. With a frozen heart and a lump in her throat, she stepped forward and the door opened silently.

Save for equipment LCD lights and a very low light on the other side of the room, all stood dark. The door closed silently behind her. In the dark, Rusti felt very small and unimportant. And for the first time in years, she felt very out-of-place.

The soft humm of machines filled the dead silence but they made poor substitution for companionship. She hugged herself, feeling cold. What the hell was she doing here? She had no business being in a place reserved for privacy. She was invading Optimus' privacy.

Stupid little girl. Grow up and take care of yourself! Stop relying on other people!

She turned away, embarrassed and guilt-driven. Tears came back and she choked, racing for the door.

"Don't leave." His soft voice rang as heart-broken as she felt. She couldn't stop crying. Regret filled her and she tried to swallow. Her lips trembled again and she wrapped herself more tightly.

"Russssti . . . " his soft voice filled with compassion. "Don't cry." A pair of true-blue optics lit. They glowed brightly then dimmed to a more comfortable gleam.

Her breath fluttered. She did not know what to do or say. But clearly she should not be here. She failed him, failed his love for her.

His optics glowed again, softly radiating. "Stay and talk to me." he pleaded. "I would be glad of the company."

Rusti bit her lower lip, feeling incompetent, but her arms relaxed a little. "I-I . . I assumed you wanted to be alone." her voice squeaked in her ears. The stupid little girl could talk with nothing more than a squeak.

His head, though unseen save for the light of his optics, tilted slightly, indicating some amusement. "First Aid has forbidden visitors. But I won't say anything, if you don't. If they come asking, you can hide under the cover."

She could not stop the smile. The tears kept falling, but now there was a smile there, too. But regret refused to let her go, "I'm so sorry, Optimus." she squeaked again.

His hand patted the flat. "Come over here, Rusti." He bade. "Come sit with me."

Although she was glad to get off the cold floor, Rusti felt awkward. She expected to have to climb, but Optimus lowered his hand and lifted her. She gathered her robe about and sat amid the folds of a thin covering. In the dim light, she found he was sitting up, perhaps had been for hours. And perhaps against First Aid's orders.

Her breath trembled again as embarrassment haunted her. The girl's cheeks were tight with dried tears and she wished she had something with which to blow her nose.

Soundlessly, Prime plucked a thin paper towelette. He handed it to her and her face lifted in half a laugh. It was as thin as a tissue, but twice her size. Wordlessly, she blew her nose and dried her eyes.

"I know . . . I know things have been unfairly difficult for you, Rusti." In spite of the depth of its sadness, his soft voice filled her. She felt better and slowly felt less fearful confronting him.

How did he always know when to say just the right things? Sometimes she'd swear Optimus read people like a book. He had this astounding gift for nailing the problem on the head. He had a remarkable way of making people feel comfortable around him.

She sighed, tears no longer tormented her. But she shivered from emotional overload. She wanted to say something, anything, and could not.

"What can a person say when the people he loves suffer and he is powerless to help? I owe you so much for what you've been through and . . . can't stop the pain." His soft voice sounded weak, tired.

Rusti suddenly realized just how torn up he was inside. The sense of helplessness, depression and guilt, had taken their toll. For some reason, Optimus blamed himself for everything that happened last fall. And at the last minute, he Reached for her. She held him tightly, and would have done it with her life.

But . . ."I ran, Optimus." she could not talk above a whisper. "I should have stayed." New tears formed. "I'm so sorry." She blinked and they fell, leaving cold trails over her cheeks and neck.

"There was nothing you could have done, Rusti." he assured her.

"I ran." she insisted. "You were there and so was Roddi and I could have . . . I could have . . . " she sniffed and blew her nose again, but could not look at him.

Prime remained silent for a moment. "So, in a moment of irrationality, you escaped. But now that you are rational, able to think, what do you think you could have done?"

She sniffed again and struggled to think through a foggy head. The Virus was at least ten times her size. It had awesome speed and agility. It dragged her into the Matrix. She stopped there for a moment: It dragged her into the Matrix. It knew her. She still could not answer Optimus' question.

"Perhaps, Rusti," he spoke ever so gently, ever so softly, "you could have done nothing. You feel badly for abandoning a situation you could not possibly have handled. Think of this: Even if you had the power to fight the Virus, would you have been able to defeat It? Did you enter the Matrix on your own power?"

She weakly shrugged. "I dunno."

"Most likely not." he answered for her. "The virus is a living entity. We know nothing of It's origin, whether or not It could be destroyed by conventional means or if ESP affects it. It does not fear you. You would have been trapped, just like us.

You did the only thing you could have done: you ran. Self defense is not cowardice, Rusti."

She shrugged trembling shoulders, still unable to look at him. How could she accept that as truth when she felt so awful?

Silence hung in the air like a death knell. She found little comfort in his explanation. She knew he was trying to help her. But the reality of it was that it happened and in spite of what she did not (could not?) do, he was here.

"Rusti." his tranquil voice whispered her name as though an angel sang it. He said it with such . . . love. But the depth of sadness drowned any peace that might have been there. "Don't punish yourself. Whatever sin you feel you may have committed could not possibly be enough to make me angry. Not when I-" his words died at the moment and the girl's own heart ached for him. " . . . not when my own crimes cannot justify one more moment of my own existence."

Now her tears fell for him. She had no memory of what happened, though she read all the reports, seen the pictures. The extent of his own deeds would haunt him for a long time.

"I would not have . . ." Prime had a hard time finishing his sentence because he knew how wrong his attempted actions were, how many people would be hurt if he departed. "survived my . . . suicide attempt, had I not been rescued by a Baby Bird. You are very important to me." The suicide was supposed to purge the monster from his soul. The failed attempt left him remorseful. But acknowledging she was there for him became more important than his guilt complex. She was precious.

Rusti thought hard about his words. Her parents loved her as an offspring, but she wasn't important. They had their friends, their jobs and Delphra. But she was important to Optimus Prime.

The guilt dissipated and sleep called her from afar. Rusti tried to think of something to say. She wanted to thank him for his kind words, but nothing appropriate came to mind.

His mind just lightly Touched hers and the girl found she did not need to say anything at all. He knew. Somehow, Optimus always knew. She laid next to him, nestling close. He covered her with his hand and she fell safely to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

TRANSFORMERS: Silent Scream

Chapter 4

YOU ASKED MY PLANS REGARDING YOUR INDIFFERENCE. 

**LISTENING. **

I AM GIVEN PERMISSION TO ADOPT YOUR CHILDREN 

Silence.

**THE EVIL— **

THE EVIL HAS BEEN BEHEADED. THE ONLY EVIL IS YOU. 

**IRRELEVANT. **

YOU WILL BE IRRELEVANT. 

**PLAGIARIST.**

---------------------------------------

The late night air tingled cold about his fur as Ambassador Koontah sat quietly at the huge water fountain in Central Command's innermost courtyard. The footfalls of Humans, aliens and Autobots echoed in his ears like heartbeats. He felt each passing presence and returned greetings as they came to him. Koontah never actually saw the city. His sight, darkened by the blindfold he wore, came from other senses, even that of heat.

But the Wanakian ambassador did not need to see to picture the city around him. He **felt** the towering buildings and the majesty of their architecture. He smelled the clean water and crisp air. The Cascade Mountains were a good deal smaller than the Amber Mountains on his home world of Lunarphyte, but they were no less splendid.

His quiet moment ended when a bitter, semi-organic vibration touched his ears. A familiar life force signature wafted across the terrain in raw energy wavelengths. A Quintesson approached. The distinctive smell of flesh and living metal drifted in soured currents. Koontah ordered himself to retain poise and stood as the Quintesson drew near.

Koontah hoped to talk with the Quintessons personally, but did not expect to do so here in Autobot City. A matter needed to be settled and it was important enough that Koontah did not think he could be genteel about it. One step at a time, he told himself.

"Ambassador Koontah," came a drowned, cold voice. "I am honored to meet you face to face."

He was of course, lying. Koontah knew a good lie when he heard one. Nevertheless, manners were of importance here. "Yes, good evening, Ambassador Cleprachaun. A bit late for a casual walk, is it not? Oh, forgive me. I forgot that Quintessons do not need much sleep."

"Unlike lower life forms, we do not require sleep." Cleprachaun corrected. "Merely periods of relaxing is adequate."

"Of course." Koontah decided it was not worth the effort to be upset over the Quintesson's rudeness. He kept his voice light and mannerly. "But I suspect an ulterior motive. Quintessons, as I understand, do not wander aimlessly."

Cleprachaun remained silent a moment as though trying to decide what words to use. Koontah sensed a bit of anxiety from the Quint. "You are correct, Ambassador." Cleprachaun's oily voice murmured through the air again. "I came in hopes of communicating with you on a more . . . intimate level."

The Wanakian ambassador stood a bit straighter. His left ear flickered. "I see."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. After a moment, Koontah settled back on the ledge of the fountain, hoping Cleprachaun would start the next round. Several soft clicks sounded and Koontah assumed the Quintesson switched faces. Hate, by the feel of it.

"There have been . . . rumors about a colony of archeologists that have recently unearthed an ancient temple. I thought I would ask if you knew anything about it."

That again was not what the Quintesson was here for. Koontah frowned and wondered if the Quintessons did anything other than lie. "Yes, it is true, Ambassador," he quietly confirmed. "It's on Maud'laub, the one planet circling Proxima Centauri. It's under heavy restrictions. The archeologists have already lost ten workers there. Considerations have been made to close the site because some have come to believe the place is cursed."

"Yes, Ambassador. The Quintessons have long since known about myths regarding the ancient temple of Maud'laub. It is said gods were sacrificed there so that Dark Things could enter our reality and feast on life. What is not widely known is what is kept inside that temple. On an alter of blood sits a treasure of power, or so the legend goes. The treasure I speak of is nothing less than the Decepticon Matrix of Power."

Koontah's face turned upward. The lie was so bad, he could not help but laugh. "I suppose the very next thing you plan to tell me is that it's still functional-and for sale!"

"I was." Cleprachaun growled. "Ambassador, it has been meganiums since knowledge of the Decepticon Matrix has been in circulation. Most of the galaxy has forgotten about it. Most beings do not live half as long as the Continuum. It's natural to assume what is considered knowledge today to be passed off as fables and myths tomorrow. I assure you, Ambassador, it exists."

Koontah still could not believe the Quintesson. How many wars and deaths have the Quints started with their lies? The Wanakian ambassador could not tell. But his trust of Cleprachaun did not go much further than his eyesight.

Poise! He admonished himself. Koontah stood again and drew a deep cold breath of late night air. "Whether or not the Decepticon Matrix exists is inconsequential. The fact is, you cannot buy me. I am not ignorant of your history, unlike thousands other victims. I am also keenly aware your people have been psychically attacking the city since the day you arrived. I strongly suggest you cease the attack. Otherwise you will find yourselves, all of you, kicked into the next Earth Ice Age. How clear do I make myself?"

"Clear enough, Ambassador." Cleprachaun's voice lowered to a soft growl. Koontah could not tell if it was out of embarrassment (not likely) or of resentment. Cleprachaun sneered, "I apologize. However, I expected your viewpoint to be different. You are a formidable opponent. It is rare we take time to change a potential client into a regarded ally."

Koontah stood rigid, "Ambassador," he snarled, "Consider yourself fortunate I have no dealings regarding your requital. I assure you, what I would do to you would be far less kinder."

Cleprachaun eyed him and switched to his Face of Death. "Is that a threat, Ambassador?"

Koontah lifted his chin slightly as though staring straight into Cleprachaun's soul. "No, Ambassador. I never make threats."

Koontah curtly walked away as Cleprachaun watched him, tentacles snapping irritably. Two other Quints emerged from building shadows and joined their associate by the fountain.

"Disturbing." the first of the two grumbled.

"Indeed." Cleprachaun agreed. "This could jeopardize the plans."

"Your assumption is fallacious." the First countered. "The Project will proceed. The Wanakian ambassador holds no threat to our plans or our cause. It simply means we will resort to less . . . subtle means. The space station is ready. All we need is a catalyst."

The Second Quintesson switched to his Face of Death. "The Project is everything. It is the very key to attaining our goal. We cannot allow anything to stand between us and success. Not even the threats of Ambassador Koontah."

Cleprachaun switched to his Face of Deceit. "As Zeta Abdura just mentioned, he posses no threat either to us or the operation. The ambassador himself said he would not raise a hand against us. We are free to do as we please."

---------------------------------------

It wasn't often that Rusti took a good leisurely bubble bath. Some moods required bubbles to make things better. Candlelight flickered with the change of air pressure and caught the girl's attention.

Her mind swirled with a math and history test, of parents and their demands, of troubled times and loss of memory. And in the eye of that emotional storm was the memory of two nights ago when she slept with Optimus.

If there was ever a girl who longed to sleep with a giant teddy bear, Rusti dared believe she broke the world's record. She giggled outwardly, daring to say nothing outside, even if she knew Max would say nothing to another soul. The comparison of Optimus Prime to a teddy bear would remain her thoughts alone.

And then there was Cody. Sweet, loving Cody. Rusti sighed and slipped further under water and bubbles. What a sweetheart! He passed her a note in the hall between classes, asking how she was doing and to call him that night.

He even signed it.

Rusti's heart bubbled with laughter, though again, she remained silent save for the smile on her face. She taped the note to her little book of memories. Of course, it was just a cordial note, nothing absolutely earth-crushing. Cody was most likely just being thoughtful and Rusti was sure he had done the same thing to his other friends.

It would be so cool if he would ask her out on a date. Rusti lifted one leg and pointed her toes toward the showerhead. A date to the VR Park would be perfect!

A grin swept over her face, her eyes lit brightly. She sat up and leaned against the side of the tub, her face partially hidden in a cloud of bubbles. "Maybe a double date would be nifty," she said out loud. "Maybe Jen and that nice guy she knows could go with us, after all, we do have a rain check"

Rusti stood and stretched and let out a squeal, "and Cody can buy me an ice cream cone!" She side stepped and her foot slipped on a bar of soap and down she went, landing in the water, spilling the stuff all over the floor and hitting her head against the shower wall.

MISS WITWICKY, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

Rusti stared at the opposite wall, her face fixed in annoyance. "I'm fine, Max," she answered with a slight growl.

"Just a bit embarrassed." Pay attention, pay attention! It seems all her teachers were shouting that phrase more often now days. Where were her brains? Her mind constantly drifted from one thing to another like some kind of psychopath with an attention deficit. School and parents and the constant search to fill memory gaps consumed her time and . . . and there was Cody.

Rusti lifted her left hand to haul her lazy body out of the tub when her eyes caught sight of the tiny freckle of a scar on the back of her wrist.

There was something Magnus mentioned a couple months ago, something about a doctor from another dimension that cured her of some illness she had. What was it called? Rusti could not for the life of her remember it.

Optimus was sick for a while, too. Really sick, with something more than just the Matrix Virus.

What was the doctor's name? How did she meet him? Absently, Rusti drained the tub, dried herself off, donned her jammies and searched her messy room for her scrapbook.

Math book, history, psychology (yuk) . . . that darned book had to be around someplace.

Under the bed?

Nope, peeking out the corner of her pillow. The girl squished her face into a question. How the heck was she sleeping with that thing under her pillow? What made her stick it under there? Why would she do something like that?

Rusti shook her head and procured the book, bouncing on her hopelessly rumpled bed. A second thought hit her and the girl swiftly pulled blankets and sheets to the pillow, somewhat straightening the bed so that it looked like half an attempt to clean her room. Of course, that would still be a ruse. Over the last several days she had not so much as lifted a finger to put anything away. At least her dirty clothes went into the hamper, but that was all she was willing to do. Everything else littered the ground.

Rusti stared at her room. She never used to be quite so careless. She remembered how she used to stack her homework on her dresser and she was far more careful about her music collection.

Her shoulders slumped and her face fell. She rested her chin on the edge of the book. What was wrong with her?

Oh, the scar on her wrist. Right. Of course, she should be studying for the tests, but this was more interesting right now. She threw a leg over the bed, the other leg dangled down the side and she flipped through her scrap book, searching for dates and notes, letters and comments.

There. January 11. Magnus made mention that Optimus was not well that day and wondered if it wasn't the Zatra Tatlic flaring up.

"Zatra Tatlic?" she echoed. "Sounds like some kind of bad gourmet dish like . . . caviar or escargot." A daring idea came to her and she reached for pen and paper. But the only paper available was the back of her math study guide. "Max, I was just wondering if you have any idea about the symptoms of Zatra Tatlic."

PROCESSING.

As she waited, Rusti flipped through the ever increasing number of pages to her scrap book. She figured soon she'd have to start another one. There was a newspaper clipping on one page with the photograph of a destroyed Central Command and the headline:

UNEXPLAINED EVENT DESTROYS CENTRAL COMMAND

Rusti swallowed hard. She had no recollection of the incident. Magnus assured her she was there. She was the only Human who was. The doctor who examined her found traces of unknown elements in her blood.

What did that mean?

CROSS REFERENCING INFERNO. ZATRA TATLIC. COMPONENTS AFFECTED: THE AMITOID. THE ARTRICAL ZYN. THE TRANSDUCTIVE PORT STABILIZERS, THE INTERNAL THERMAL REGULATOR, THE INTROMETER TEMPERATE INDICATOR, THE SYSTEMIC NOCTURN SLIPS AND THE LATERAL TEMPLOID EXPLATUMS.

Rusti knew the name of only one component. The others sailed over her head. Didn't Max just say he was cross-referencing Inferno? What did that mean?

Her eyes caught sight of the clock at her bed stand and Rusti cringed. "Oh, shit! I gotta get to bed." She put her book up and gathered all her homework into one area. She quickly made her choice of clothes for the next day and went to bed, still pondering over Inferno.

Without a single doubt in her mind, Rusti knew she flunked the math test. Well, it's what she deserved for being lazy.

The girl rested against her locker as the last period bell announced the end of school and the beginning of the weekend. Spring break seemed eons away, even if it was just next month. A vacation would be nice; the longer, the better.

The familiar figure of Cody Greydon approached from the left but she did not greet him right away. Her eyes remained focused on nothing, her mind millions of miles from anything.

"You know," came the boy's kind voice, "when your mind is full and your stomach is empty, there's nothing worse than trying to think."

She offered him a weak smile and realized her head hurt again. "Are you suggesting, Mr. Greydon, sir, that we solve the head problem by means of the stomach?"

He offered he the crook of his arm. "Well, it's always worked for me."

She took his arm and thought how selfish it was of herself to wish it were Optimus who guided her away from school.

They stopped by the cafeteria in the EDC District before retreating to Max's outer city limits. Perched high on a hillside, Rusti pondered about the events taking place at the football stadium. She overheard two officers in the elevator mention something about another meeting with the Quints. No doubt the tentacle slimed-faced jerks would invent more excuses for their antagonism toward the Autobots over the last two decades.

Rusti sensed Rodimus' anxiety. It wasn't that he felt ill-prepared for the meeting, but that Quintesson perjury would win the mediator's favor.

Jerks.

Homework! She remembered the history homework and was grateful the test was delayed until the following Monday. But it meant more material to study for. Still, her wandering mind punished her with confusion and distraction.

Rusti forced her eyes on one page. 1509 A.D. Henry, Prince of Wales succeeds his father as King at age 18. Awful young to be the ruler of a nation, she thought.

How old was Optimus when he took over as leader of the Autobots?

What mischief did the Quints cause at that time, if any? As she stared at the page, all the letters blurred. Rusti resented the idea that the Quintessons were here at all. She actually passed one day before yesterday on her way to the bus. It stopped and stared at her, as though trying to read her inside-out. Rusti returned the stare with a soured expression and boarded the bus. It creeped her out.

Why was Optimus so willing to try and make peace with these bastards? What would it accomplish? The Quints were an older enemy than the Decepticons and certainly the Quints had no intention of making peace! What were they up to and why?

Maybe Optimus was tired of all the fighting, the casualties, the suffering they endured to stay free.

Maybe. And maybe Optimus Prime was buying time.

"You know, Rus, you've been staring at that same page for twenty minutes."

Her eyes lifted from nothing to Cody's face as he sipped his chocolate shake. Her heart felt heavy, her body weary. "I'm not even reading it, Cody." With a great sigh, she groaned and rolled onto fresh soft grass. She stared into the sky as a cloud passively drifted into view then began to diminish in the gentle warmth of the spring sun.

"I guess I don't want to do anything, right now." Her eyes stared into the depths of the sky.

Cody watched her eyes drift aimlessly, staring into the partly cloudy sky. Her curly red hair sprawled over her math book as lively as she.

He dipped an Oreo Double stuffed cookie into a spare glass of milk and crunched. Her silent musings reduced their conversations to little more than sighs and grunts. He missed her enthusiasm and that smile that lit an entire room. But nightmares did that to people, turning them to dark thoughts and gloomy expressions. That dipshit Dr. Cynyr brushed her symptoms off as little more than delusions of a girl that needed Midol.

Cody thought it professionally irresponsible, whether or not Cynyr liked the girl. She wasn't herself. Her mind wandered in lightless thoughts that she shared with him in vague terms. Cody wished he could get inside that head of hers and find out what happened. Aside from the post-traumatic amnesia, Rusti experienced more than just a few mental bruises.

The young man finished his third cookie and drained his milkshake. Time to pick at that head of hers. "It's the Quints, isn't it? I'll bet they've got you riled."

"They're bastards." she grunted.

"I didn't know Quintessons procreated from unmarried mothers. I hope their mommies look better than they do."

Rusti's head lolled to the left. A light flickered in her

eye as her face scrunched up in a single question mark. "Huh?" It took the girl a moment to realize that her friend was far from serious and she could not suppress a smile. "Yes. They all look like Ultra Magnus."

Cody's eyes squinted and he shook his head as the girl burst into a fit of laughter. He waited until she settled down, sipping his milk and nabbing another cookie. "How are the talks going, have you heard?"

"Nope. 'Cept rumor has it the visiting ambassador doesn't like the Quintessons. He even shot one of them for talking out of turn."

"Have you seen him? The ambassador, I mean?"

"No. No time. But I hear he's been really good. Too bad he couldn't have been here when the Decepticons were."

Cody shared her sullen silence for a moment, reflecting on Fortress Maximus and history. "That was a long time ago," he whispered. "I mean, long before you and me. Whatever happened to them? To Galvatron?"

Rusti finally sat up and fluffed her hair. She reached for a cookie and dunked it in her milk. "You know, Cody, instead of boring us with history lessons about the development of the government of Spain during the Inquisition, I wish they'd teach more about stuff like the redevelopment of human society after the Autobots arrived. I mean, can you imagine what a shock it must have been at that time period?'

Rusti ate her cookie in three bites and swept up another one. "We're the second generation removed from that time and while it's all recorded, I'll bet it's not like living it first hand."

"It must have been a terrifying time," Cody agreed. "Now, there are no more Decepticons."

Rusti's thoughts drew her away from him again. Wasn't there something she was supposed to do today? It must have been important and now the girl could not remember what it was. She dunked another cookie and thought hard then lifted her cookie and let the thought go. "Well, last anyone heard of the Decepticons was when Cybertron was revitalized. Scorponok shot off into space. Nothing more's been heard from them in about twenty-five years."

"Maybe they all perished. Probably hunted down by bounty hunters or trapped by the gravitational force of a black hole, sucked down and trapped in a hellish prison for all eternity. Or maybe they caught a disease that ate them alive-"

"Disease!" Rusti's sudden response made her friend jump and she leapt to her feet.

"What?" Cody looked as though someone threw a curve ball and nearly smacked him in the eye.

"Disease! THAT'S what I was supposed to look up!" Rusti instantly gathered her things together and stuffed one of three remaining cookies in her mouth. "I godda go do uh ibrary 'nd fid 'omething."

"Eh?" Cody reached and removed the cookie from between the girl's teeth.

Rusti laughed. "I need to go to the library and look up something. Coming?"

His expression remained blank with confusion and he stuffed the cookie back in her mouth. "Yeah."

Cody stood by as he watched Rusti finger through Autobot public logs. She seemed to know what she was looking for, but Cody could not figure out why she chose logs from late last October.

"Here!" she whispered. And with a swift yank, the girl slipped the crystal memory cells into a viewer and activated the logs.

Cody tried the patient route: "Rus, what are you looking for?"

"References to Zatra Tatlic from Ultra Magnus' files. I'm going to cross-reference them with Inferno's termination files."

"Why?"

She finally looked at him, examining his expression with quizzical eyes. But if the girl was going to answer him, he never heard it. The requested data file came up.

EARTH DATE NOVEMBER 2, 2037.

CENTRAL COMMAND IS IN RUINS. RECONSTRUCTION IS ALREADY UNDERWAY AND GROUNDBREAKER REPORTS COMPLETION DATE INSIDE TWO WEEKS. OPTIMUS PRIME IS CURRENTLY UNDERGOING MEDICAL TREATMENT AND OBSERVATION FOLLOWING AN UNUSUAL ORDEAL REGARDING A TIME FRACTURE. I DON'T PRETEND TO UNDERSTAND HOW, BUT AN EVENT OCCURRED THAT CROSSED TWO REALITIES INTO A TEMPORARY WORLD. ONLY A FEW OF US ESCAPED. DURING THIS PERIOD, WE JOINED FORCES WITH PEOPLE AND TRANSFORMERS FROM THE OTHER REALITY. THE DOCTOR AMONG THEM TREATED RUSTI FOR SYMPTOMS OF A DISEASE HE CALLED ZATRA TATLIC. THE CURIOUS POINT WAS THAT DR. SCOTT SAID RUSTI WAS NOT THE ONE WHO ACTUALLY HAD THE VIRUS, BUT OPTIMUS PRIME. A LIST OF SYMPTOMS ARE AVAILABLE AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS REPORT.

Rusti scanned Magnus' report for other information regarding the disease, picking up other facts such as time distortions and monsters mutated by the Fracture itself.

"Here," she whispered.

Cody finally drew a chair and sat beside her, staring at the screen then at the girl. "Rus, what precisely are you looking for? It's pretty evident that you were there-"

"That's not the point." Rusti answered absently. "I'm looking for origin. I asked Max about it last night and he said something about cross-referencing with Inferno. My guess is that Inferno died of the same disease, but the Autobots didn't have any knowledge of the disease at the time and I'm willing to bet I can find out where it came from."

She tapped the keyboard and zipped the mouse from one file to another, glancing through Inferno's file. "There," she whispered again.

Cody leaned in closer, speed-reading the document, glancing at the diagrams and frowning at some text written in Autobot. "Can you read some of that stuff, Rus?"

"No. I'll just have it translated." Rusti didn't bother typing in commands. She poured through the computer, now, as though running on automatic. Cody watched in silent amazement as the girl seemed to unconsciously choose to use her talent to tap into the system. She didn't bother with the mouse and used the keyboard only four times. Her concentration was such that the boy doubted she was aware of him at all.

He silently grinned and shook his head.

"What?" Rusti asked, surprising him.

"You. I'll bet you're really an Autobot in Human skin."

Rusti dropped her research and choked up. For some reason, his words hurt. Was she really that inhuman?

"What?" he asked softly.

She tilted her head just slightly, embarrassed by the tear that ran down her right cheek. "Is that why my family hates me so much?"

Cody opened his mouth, struggling to find a way to apologize. "Rusti, I didn't mean for it to sound-"

Her eyes locked onto him. "Did you know that my Grandpa Witwicky could read Autobot script? My great grandfather learned Autobot physiology in just a few short months. Does that make me less then Human?"

Cody laid a hand on hers. "Why does it upset you? You have a unique insight into their world, Rusti. You have a connection most people only dream of having. This thing you can do, this ability you have . . . I'd give my life to have it. I'd give my life to be in your shoes just one day. To connect with an alien life form, to see their world, practically through their optics . . . Rusti, that's wonderful! But like any other ability, there are going to be people who resent and fear it. I think the best thing you can do with your talents is to take what you learn here, and translate it to the world. I've seen a bit of your artwork, Rusti. You see wonderful things and . . . and I think you need to share them.

His warm strong hand was on hers. His words sank into her heart. But she still felt sad. A bit of pain crossed the back of her head, slightly blurring her eyesight. Another darned headache on the horizon. Get back to the task at hand. It was important. The girl silently nodded, sniffed and wiped her cheek.

Cody withdrew as she became distant again. But he was sure she heard him. He let the moment go and glued his eyes to the monitor. "Scheol?" he read. "What's that?"

As though answering his question, the computer zipped through other files, searching for dates, times and logs. May 15, 1990 was the date of departure. September 2, 1990, the date of return from Scheol.

"Huh?"

Rusti quickly read through the files, picking up names and events. "It looks like Optimus and several other Autobots were trapped in the space bridge at one time and transported to another world. From there they tried to get back either to Earth or Cybertron. But their ship was interceded by pirates and they were taken to another place called Scheol. There the Autobots were forced to fight in a gladiatorial combat. Inferno and Optimus were given energon shots . . . " Rusti stared unblinking at the page. Without touching mouse or keypad, the computer sifted through pages and files, searching for Inferno's death certificate.

The headache started pounding from the back of Rusti's head to her temples. Concentrate! Her clothes became uncomfortably warm.

ZATRA TATLIC. COMPONENTS AFFECTED:

THE AMITOID

THE ARTRICAL ZYN

THE TRANSDUCTIVE PORT STABILIZERS

THE INTERNAL THERMAL REGULATOR

THE INTROMETER TEMPERATE INDICATOR

THE SYSTEMIC NOCTURN SLIPS

LATERAL TEMPLOID EXPLATUMS

Rusti blinked several times and wiped her cheek, checking for smeared makeup. Now that she thought of that, she absently reached into her backpack and fingered about for her lipstick. "You know, Cody, I have no idea what most of these components are."

He scrunched in a little closer, reading over her shoulder as she applied fresh lipstick. "Um . . . Transductive port stabilizers I believe have something to do with their subspace manipulation. And the systemic nocturn slips have something to do with the infrastructural rod."

She scrutinized him out the corner of her eye and capped her lipstick. "Is that like the backbone?"

"Yup. And lateral temploid explatums . . . " Cody shook his head. "I'm not that good. And artrical zyn, um, I think that has something to do with perception. What's that called?" Cody leaned back in his chair and thought hard. "It's something like you have-well, not exactly . . . what's it called, Rus?"

Her neck and shoulders hurt now and Rusti was ready for two aspirin and a bit of snooze. She also felt sadly distant, as though everyone she knew and loved no longer cared for her. The girl choked and bit back tears. She hoped Cody would stay her friend. Help me, she thought, something's being robbed from me.

"Ah! Life force frequencies. I think the artrical zyn has something to do with perception in the Beta life-force frequencies, the ability to distinguish reality from dreams. You know how you have a dream and wake up, thinking you're still there? That's when the Beta kicks in." Cody paused a moment, staring at the monitor. His brows scrunched, "Rus, it just dawned on me. Some of the symptoms Optimus Prime suffered last fall might not have all been of the Virus. Some of them might have been the Tatlic. And you know . . . well, you know how you said that Rodimus sometimes mirrors Optimus and vice versa? I'll bet Roddi's been feeling some of the same symptoms.'

'And you know something else? If both Optimus Prime and Inferno caught the Zatra Tatlic on Sheol, chances might be that there is a cure there, too." The boy reread the list of affected areas and frowned. "That's a nasty bug." Then he realized how quiet she had fallen and Cody laid a hand on her shoulder, "Rusti?"

She turned to him, face wet with tears. "I'm sorry, Cody. I don't know what's wrong with me."

He shrugged, not bothered by her embarrassment. "It's okay. We can call it a day. I'll walk you back to your quarters."

Rusti couldn't reach her room fast enough. Thankfully Cody guided her back to her quarters there in Central Command rather than in the EDC District. He set her books and backpack just around the door and kindly bade her good-bye. She felt awful leaving him like that. The girl thought she should have at least left him a peck on the cheek. But as she closed the door, Rusti's whole composure collapsed like a watered sand castle. She stripped to her underclothes and collapsed onto her messy bed.

For a while Rusti slept as though she were dead. A while later, she woke, realizing she was dehydrated. Her skin was hot and dry with fever. She crawled off the bed and staggered to her bathroom, scrounging with blurry vision for aspirin and a glass for water. Her body felt as though it were made of rubber, slowly disintegrating.

What day was it? Maybe it didn't matter. What was yesterday? What happened yesterday? Water tasted stale-bitter and Rusti dreaded finishing the glass. She forced herself to gulp it down and cringed.

Back to bed. She didn't lay down, she collapsed and remained absolutely still as her head pounded with a migraine.

She woke again later, finding her windows dark with the onset of night. She rolled over, feeling numb and hoping the headache and fever had left.

"M-Max," she whispered, "what day is it?

SUNDAY NIGHT, APRIL 26, MISS WITWICKY.

She slept all through Sunday? How? How? She did not recall dreams of any kind. She guessed Roddi would have to call the school for her tomorrow. There was no way Rusti would make it to class in this condition. She supposed it would be smarter to get medical help. But the girl could not get back up. Her eyes closed and she fell back to darkness before another thought entered her mind.

---------------------------------------

Rusti traveled the bridge from Central Command toward the training grounds. The city lay smoldering. Buildings slumped as though they were of wax, wasting under a desert sun. Human vehicles stood abandoned; some of them crushed. The only light touching the city came through brown and grey clouds.

She hurt head to toe.

What was she doing on the bridge? How did she get here? What brought her to this point?

"Rustii!" that was Aunt Missy calling. No, she screamed it and she ran as though the girl were in danger of getting slammed by a train.

Rusti, however, could not respond. Her heart hurt and inside, she felt Someone else's precious soul ached. She watched, grief stricken, as Optimus and Rodimus disappeared from the scene of a devastated city. She closed her eyes as her breathing stopped, interrupted by tears.

Captain Fairborn arrived and Rusti stared at her, weak and sad.

"Optimus hurts." It was barely a whisper.

The anguish of reality wrought more darkness. Then the spark of life vanished. He departed. His life force, his presence, disappeared from Fort Max. Ultra Magnus was left with the challenge of rebuilding both a city and its people. No greater despair could affect an Autobot population than the death of a Prime. Last time Rodimus took over, sparing the Autobots the pain of losing the very character and core of their community.

And in his death, Prime too was alone. Forsaken. The god of his forbears abandoned him to his own fate, wherever that might lead him in a life after death, if such a thing existed. Just like the great battle in 2005, Primus turned his back on the Bearer of the Matrix, the leader of the Autobots.

It crushed Optimus.

Rusti Reached for him but he was not really there. He died, abandoning her to a life bereft of happiness and fulfillment. That was a part of her soul that could never be replaced.

"I loved you." She wept. Tears soaked her hair and the pillow beneath her. "I loved you. How can I convince you to stay alive? You have to live to take care of me." She cried hard, gripping her pillow. "Don't leave me! Who'll take care of me?"

Rusti could not let go of the dream-induced feelings and images. Her heart weighed with emptiness and she cried herself back to sleep.

Rusti roused as the sun peeked into her room, passing curtains and ordering her to come to her senses and take on responsibility. The girl reluctantly, weakly sat up, trembling. What an awful night and a miserable dream! She ran her fingers through wet hair and felt wretched. It was time to hit the shower and shove off to school. But study was pointless; she knew she'd flunk that history test.

The girl clutched her pillow. She wanted to talk to someone, but felt too stupid. Miserably, she flopped back on her bed, drawing the wet pillow over her head.

It was going to be a hell of a day.

Miraculously enough, Rusti managed to get out of bed and ready in time for a bit of breakfast at the EDC cafeteria before catching the bus. Usually 'sleeping beauty' couldn't crawl out of bed and caught the bus just in time.

EDC staff members, personnel, families living at the base and aliens dashed to and fro in a suspicious rush. Rusti felt totally numb. Usually it annoyed her that the Target/Head masters pretty much cleaned up the food trays before she managed a sampling of pancakes or biscuits and gravy. Today she was either half asleep, too numb or too shaken over the bad dream to either notice or care.

Her heavy back pack slipped off her shoulder and dangled over her arm, tipping the breakfast tray. Fortunately nothing spilt but it added to her crankiness. She wished she could flush it down the toilet and go play with the Dinobots.

Someone lifted the bag off Rusti's arm and lapped it back over her shoulder. She greeted Aunt Missy with mixed emotions and forced a thankful smile.

"You're early this morning." Aunt Missy was the morning type who could spring out of bed and into her clothes in nine seconds. Rusti recalled those few times when Aunt Missy babysat her and her siblings. Breakfast was always on time; and all three kids had to be up and bathed by eight o'clock, no matter what cartoon shows were on at the time.

Captain Fairborn swept up a tray. She snatched every kind of food she usually refused to eat and stopped when she encountered the drink section. Coffee was a necessity, but she could not decide between the orange or grapefruit juice.

Rusti stared in confusion. It was not normal for Aunt Missy to stand there and stare. Even the captain's silver hair seemed a bit disheveled. And stranger still, Rusti realized her aunt's jacket was inside out.

Make-up check: Lipstick, yes. Mascara, no. "Thank you, Aunt Missy." Her voice sounded mousier than usual in her own ears.

"Hi, sweetie." the Captain greeted. "How's school?" She finally picked the grapefruit juice and stretched past Rusti to nab a second cinnamon roll.

Rusti stared, a bit more disturbed by her aunt's odd behavior. She also took note how everyone kept rushing around them, coming and going. "Is it just me, or is everyone in a bigger hurry this morning?"

Fairborn nailed the girl with her eyes. "You haven't heard? Don't you listen to the news, Rusti? At your age, you should be interested in what's going on around you. The whole city's on alert."

Rusti's breath constricted. Reminders from the dream made her blood run cold. She dreaded asking, "why? What's wrong?"

"Several anti-matter coils have disappeared and three hundred energon cubes turned up missing." Fairborn sighed and bowed her head. Rusti waited, breath held as her stomach twisted in knots.

Don't say it, she thought. She waited, unwilling to let Fairborn get away without finishing her story. Fairborn gazed at her sadly. "No one told you yet?"

Rusti's pressure rose in dire dread. She stopped breathing altogether. "Told me what?"

"Optimus Prime is gone. He left a suicide note in his office this morning."

The second-period five-minute bell rang. Students dashed to their classes, fearful of late slips and detention. It did not matter to Rusti. At the snail's pace of her walk, she would be late to math. But the girl could not care less. The world buzzed about her in a frenzied pace while her body pressed forward so slowly, she wasn't sure if she was walking or not. The emptiness in her heart robbed her of strength. The world had come to an end. Nothing was good anymore. Nothing was wonderful. People slammed into her, scoffing hotly, sneering and called her a name or two. She did not hear them. She bowed as tears wet her eyes, leaving cold tracks down her cheeks. She did not even care if her mascara smeared.

The hallways cleared and ground patrols scoured the school for tardies or those trying to play hooky. Detention was the first offense, suspension, the second.

She didn't care. Nothing was good anymore. Rusti's feet stopped at an unfamiliar door, finding herself near the drama department. No, this was all wrong. She was supposed to go to math. Dumb little girl. She leaned against a wall and slid down, sitting on the cold floor, exhausted and in a complete daze. But sitting only made things worse. It meant she'd have to exert even more energy to get up.

Never mind. It didn't matter now. Nothing did. Her world had come to an end.

All the warnings her parents and Delphra gave her all her life pounded in her head. They tried to tell her not to get involved. You need to live a normal life, they'd always tell her. Humans and Autobots don't mix. But . . . but Optimus and Roddi were always there for her.

"Roddi," she whispered. Here she had been so self-absorbed about how she felt of Optimus' disappearance that she did not consider how this would affect Rodimus. The pain in her heart caused her head to ache and she rested her head against the wall. Tears silently streamed into her ears. How could Optimus be so thoughtless, so cruel to just abandon everyone-her-like that? Maybe the regret and guilt drove him over the edge.

She wanted to die, too.

"HE CANNOT LOVE YOU!" Daniel's words bit deeply and truthfully into her. "You think of him as some kind of hero, with noble intentions and goodness . . . he knows nothing of love."

Oh, Primus, how true that all sounds now! She didn't, could not believe him. Her father was an angry little boy, resentful of his fate. His bitterness consumed him and he made sure everyone around him was as miserable as he.

But whatever she believed then, Daniel's horrible words were true now. Optimus was gone. He said not a word to her. Not even a note. Nothing. He had abandoned and betrayed her. But . . . didn't he once say she was important to him?

New tears stung her eyes and she tried in vain to bat them back. They fell, all of them soaking the collar round her neck. Her necklace weighed heavily about her like a chain of enslavement.

Betrayal.

He lied.

HE LIED!

A man with long legs and a uniform shirt stepped in front of her, but Rusti did not bother to look. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but you're supposed to be in class. You will have to be written up for this. Unless you have a pass. Do you have a pass?"

He lied. He abandoned her without a word. She was all cold and empty inside. She had no feelings for anyone or anything. Someone in her life had died.

"I'll have to have your name, Ma'am if you don't have a pass. I need your student ID and name of parent or guardian."

_Roddi?_ she called. "Roddi." she whispered.

"Roddy?" The hallway patrolman twisted his face in confusion. "Roddy what?"

She Searched, Reaching to him for some measure of comfort. But the air remained silent. It seemed as though communication between she and Rodimus were cut off. But most likely Rodimus was swamped and simply could not answer. She was pretty much on her own. The isolation hurt.

The security officer hunched in front of her. He was at least nineteen. A slim moustache furred his upper lip. His dark eyes stared into her. The silver badge of position gleamed dimly in the corridor light. He frowned with growing impatience. "Ma'am, I recommend you cooperate or you will be suspended for violating school code number 44937D."

She stared blankly into him, through him and past him. The emptiness devoured her, leaving nothing but a body unable to operate. Her soul had been ripped to pieces and no one, absolutely no one, could put it back together. She could not respond.

He scrutinized her, a bit confused. The patrolman pressed a button on his wristwatch, keeping his eyes glued to the unresponsive girl before him. "Uh, this is Route Four calling Nest."

"Nest. What's your P.B.?" the voice came more as a squawk than a sound.

"Uh, I think we have a 67 in Drama. Require assistance."

"Ten-four, 67."

He remained crouched before her, waiting for help. He fingered the necklace but said nothing.

The necklace was important to her . . . she was important to Optimus Prime.

But he did not love her.

Tears fell at their own will. But Rusti could not outwardly cry. Her eyes froze in place while her heart bled. Her soul felt shattered, lying in pieces and no one was there to pick them up.

The security officer kindly wiped a tear then two from her cheek. He unburdened her arms of the heavy math book and Rusti finally turned her gaze downward. She completely forgot about the math book, Its cover bore proof of happier days. Scribbles and drawings marked the brown wrapping up and down. Cody signed his name in seven different styles in one corner and Rusti's half-hearted attempt lined another.

Somehow the girl recalled the pointers Optimus got one Christmas. They were marked as though they were from her. Who would get those, now? Ultra Magnus? Or maybe Roddi would give them to Jazz.

The officer stood away and communicated into his comlink. At least he wasn't shouting at her. Daniel and later Delphra certainly will. They warned her. They told her it was bad. It was all bad.

They knew.

Did he hate her? Did Optimus leave because he was angry with her? What could she have said or done to keep him home? More tears came.

Someone brushed curly, unruly hair from her shoulder. The touch was enough to rouse her from the growing despair. Rusti rolled her vacant stare to the left.

That was Cody. He said nothing, offering her a grim smile. Silently he helped her to stand and guided her arm across his shoulders, his arm across her back. Rusti followed his prompting like a puppet, neither knowing nor caring where he led her. The back pack was abandoned until the hallway patrolman picked it up and followed them outside.

Someone's words vaguely entered her ears, but Rusti paid them no more mind than the third period bell.

Someone sternly ordered Cody to take Rusti to the principal's office.

Rusti couldn't care less about the damned principal. She wanted to find Optimus. She needed to find him.

Someone, please, please stop the aching!

They exited the hallway, now jammed with bodies and a billion conversations going on at the same time. Rusti suddenly felt drowsy. A bit of a nap in the sun would not be so bad a thing, wouldn't it? She sat on the bench of Cody's choosing and just stared into nothing.

The sun seemed to seep into the cold dark of her soul and Rusti actually blinked once, then twice. It was like waking groggy and exhausted from a night fraught with horrible dreams.

"Rusti?" His voice was close, but strangely garbled, as though distant, "what's happened? Would you like someone to take you home?"

Home? Yes, because Optimus . . . no. No. She managed to make eye contact. But it was difficult. Cody's brown eyes, thankfully were not like an Autobot's. Rusti didn't think she could handle it if that were the case. She opened her mouth, but honestly could not figure out what she needed to say. It must have been important, certainly.

"I was the baby bird," it really did not matter how tiny her voice sounded. "I . . . " she gripped the necklace as the five-minute bell rang. Around them the ground cleared as all the good students with uncomplicated lives and meaningless destinies, settled into their classes.

They were lucky. Their world had not dissipated. Their meaningless lives were still intact. Shallow little people, living shallow little lives. Rusti gripped the necklace as she closed her eyes. She would have to request a leave of absence. She simply could not function. Not like this.

She forced herself to her feet as Cody called her.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter what anyone said, needed or wanted. She yanked the necklace off. The pain around her neck could not ease the pain in her heart. Optimus was dead. He didn't love her. Rusti dropped the necklace like so much litter.

Cody called her again but Rusti was emotionally out of reach. Traumatized, she walked in a world now devoid of the school, of the security guards, of the guns they fired, of the ship that hovered over the courtyard.

She would have to change her life, now. She would have to move on. Like a zombie, Rusti walked through a line of fire she honestly did not see or hear. Lasers fired back and forth. No sound, not from Human guards or Quintesson invaders. But Rusty did hear her backpack fall from the bench she and Cody sat on. In her dream-like state, the girl turned, still heedless of the danger she was in.

The backpack tumbled, spilling its contents.

That wasn't right. She had zipped it up.

Distantly the girl thought she heard someone scream at someone else. But to her, it wasn't important. She aimed for her back pack. After all, she could not leave a mess in the middle of the courtyard.

Her lipstick dropped off a sloppy pile of books and notepads and rolled several feet away.

Now, for some reason, the lipstick was important. She liked it. The girl reached for it and realized there was a great deal of noise around her. People were shouting and there was a lot of banging. But it came only by sound. The lipstick was important.

She reached for it and realized a tentacle snaked between she and her possession.

Dimly it dawned on the dazed girl that the tentacle was out of place. Her eyes climbed the extremity until she met the displeased expression of a Quintesson's Face of Deceit.

The Quint crossed another set of tentacles and sighed. "Clearly the new psychic frequency is affecting the Human population in other ways. This may complicate the present situation. But we will leave no loose ends. Take this wretched Autobot sympathizer with the other subjects. We will sort matters on the space station."

She was being abducted. Rusti glanced about for Cody, discovering his unconscious form in the grip of a Quintesson tractor beam. Swiftly, she opened her lipstick and scribbled across the ground. Then the outer world fell as dark as her despair.

---------------------------------------

The morning for Rodimus began like every other for the past month: a crushing overload in his cerebral circuitry, a foul mood and pains in his energon conversion tract. He mulled over it with a cup of magnesium/noxide cordial in one hand, a status report in the other. He sipped and frowned. Optimus Prime was found missing and outer parameter defenses reported no incident. No alarms were tripped, Max did not notice a single thing.

No sounds, no tracks, not so much as a footprint or a cigarette butt in the EDC sewer system.

Roddi leaned back in Optimus' chair and tossed the report on the desk in front of him. The slim digipad spun once, landed on the edge and slipped off. Rodimus didn't bother to recover it. Anger, frustration, fear, remorse, and depression had taxed his patience and his sleep. In fact, the Autobot leader could not remember a night he recharged without suffering from systemic fragmentation. To make matters worse, he had the same three dreams over and over again: Cybertron had become the new body of Unicron. The second haunted him with visions of himself drowning in Human and Autobot blood. The third was always of Optimus Prime feeding off him like a magnetic spider.

The last dream always left Rodimus with cold surges.

For the last three weeks, his life was a walking misery factory, as if his whole being, body and soul, was out of kilter, ass backwards. He could not concentrate without accusatory memories raising their ugly heads to remind him of unholy deeds. Every knife wound inflicted, every plot devised, each thought dark and cruel, every word spoken left him guilt-ridden.

He also kept thinking he heard Rusti scream. He imagined voices that weren't there. At first the Autobot leader thought the voices were more a manifestation of the Matrix Virus as before. He learned later such things were also symptoms of depression. But Rusti screaming . . . he knew what that was about. It was as evil and foul a memory as the fight between he and Optimus Prime.

No, actually it was worse because Rusti was an innocent in this little dance of madness.

Just like right now.

The Autobot leader tried to shake himself of distant whispers that called for help. He felt sick.

Those damnable dreams. Rodimus recalled moving and thinking like a puppet. He couldn't stop.

Take up the sword. Stab him with it. Take up the gun. Fire it. Run, run as fast as you can. Use all the energy it takes to kill him. He obeyed the voice and did what he could to rip, tear, shred and maim Optimus. But Prime came back seemingly ten-fold and kicked the crap out of him.

Rodimus sat up and rubbed his face, purging his mind of those ghosts. Imagine being killed by someone you loved. All either of them could do was take that anger, frustration and strife and turn it inward. It ate Optimus Prime inside. It started on Rodimus. He wanted to abandon everything, walk away from Fort Max, from the Autobots, from the war, and never return.

Stop! Those thoughts would poison him.

-And Optimus tried to kill him then commit suicide.

And in the back of Roddi's mind, something didn't add up. He was sure Optimus would not have questioned the reality of the situation regarding the Quintessons. Prime was far too gone. The depression certainly knocked him senseless. It must have for him to try and raise the white flag with the Quint-creeps. What other explanation was there?

Rodimus knew it was only a matter of time before he too succumbed to the suicidal death-wish.

He slammed his fist on the desk.

Dammit, be silent!

"Max, a bit of music, please." Maybe sound would drive the inner demons into sleep, if but for a few minutes. Roddi drained the cordial and waited for Kup's and Magnus' report. He had been up since four-thirty. They usually didn't report until eight.

Rodimus took to his feet, unable to sit calmly. He cursed himself inwardly; he should have known! He should have kept an extra optic out on Prime!

Roddi stopped fuming for a moment, his hands resting on his hip plates. To be honest, the suicide note bothered him most. Optimus wasn't much for beating around the bush in making a point, but the note was just . . . lame.

He swept up the digipad and sat on the edge of the desk, propping one foot against its side. He brooded over the message again.

"SIMPLY CANNOT FUNCTION ANY LONGER. DO NOT LOOK

FOR ME. I WILL NOT RETURN."

"Sludge could writer better than this!" Prime snorted. "Bad English, broken sentences . . . Max, who found this, anyway? Never mind, I don't think I can care." He tossed the digipad on the desk in disgust. It too slid across the surface and ended in the garbage on the other side.

Optimus Prime did not bother to leave the Matrix. If he were indeed planning to commit suicide, he would have seen to it that the Matrix, in spite of its condition, would have ended in Roddi's hands.

The headache pounded and Rodimus Prime wanted to punch someone or something as long as it put an end to his frustration and pain. Folding his arms, Roddi bowed his head and thought back to the night he confronted his older friend. The music chimes added a feeling of disquiet as Optimus told him about his resuscitation, about his feelings over the Rebirth; the loss of purpose.

Sunlight peered through the window behind the chair and Roddi frowned. It was bright and unwelcome. The spring sun seemed to mock him and the situation.

At least Cody Greydon's idea worked as far as controlling the Virus' influence. Roddi was grateful for the young man's help. He was far smarter than Rodimus once took him for. In fact, Cody was kind of a rare breed among his peers. He was very good to Rusti and did not try to make her remember anything. He had a good head on his shoulders and Rodimus hoped the relationship between Cody and Rusti might come to something more . . . permanent.

And while the new chip helped block a good many effects of the virus, it only acted like a splint for a broken infrastructural rod. The injured person in question could move, but the damage remained untreated.

And that led Rodimus' thoughts back to Optimus and his unusual disappearance. Nobody just disappears into thin air. Not even Optimus Prime.

His comm bleeped. "Prime." he answered deadpan.

Blaster paused, "Rodimus, we gotta call from Cascade High School."

The communications officer's voice was unusually solemn. Roddi looked up with a start. Something was terribly wrong. "What?" he demanded. "Has there been an accident? Is Rusti alright?"

"Patching in."

"Hello?" came a lady's voice.

"This is Rodimus Prime, who is this?" Anxiety conquered his moodiness for the moment and the Autobot leader stood, staring at the ceiling.

"Mrs. Pollens, school principal. We tried to get her parents, Mr. Prime, but--"

"Her parents are not reachable, they work out of town, Mrs. Pollens. I thought we had already cleared this up with the school. Optimus Prime is her legal guardian."

"Yes. Well, school policy--"

"Mrs. Pollens." Rodimus growled, "What's going on?"

"Ehhum, at approximately ten o'clock, she and another student, were abducted from the school yard. Security tried to-"

"I'll be there in ten minutes!" Rodimus cut the comm. Terror and anger surged gave him more energy than he had in days. But Rodimus berated himself severely. What a fool! Rusti HAD tried to get to him earlier -the screams were real! Fool! Idiot! Too many things slipped his mind of late.

Rodimus dashed out Central Command, ignoring those who greeted him, and the two receptionists who tried to call his attention. He transformed, practically demolishing the Southeastern Gateway and shot north toward Central City.

Cascade High School was located in the 'cleaner' side of Central City. The neighborhood was a bit erratic; a Mormon church stood on one side, a mental health facility on the other. Two mini markets sandwiched the facility and a book store squatted across it. A large apartment complex stretched on the side of the school parking lot, and a well-supervised park sat next to the gymnasium.

Rodimus slowed to the gate, meeting security and trying to keep his temper in check. The man peered in, baffled. "What's this?" he demanded.

"I'm Rodimus Prime. I'm here about Rusti Witwicky." the Autobot snarled.

The gate keeper nodded with a cautious step back and raised the bar. Rodimus eased in and transformed. Police vehicles, S.W.A.T. teams and a few reporters scattered about the grounds, searching for clues or asking for eyewitnesses. Rodimus noticed scorch marks in the main courtyard and the smell of burnt Human flesh wafted faintly in the air.

Teachers, security officers, a few students, and a forensic team met his optics as Rodimus crossed the taped lines. Rusti's parents, and her aunt Delphra were held back by two security guards, one of which had drawn his baton.

Toward the middle of the courtyard stood Jax Tolomsky, checking notes and quietly talking with one of his 'boys.' He spotted Rodimus and waved for him to approach. Rodimus ignored Netty's whines and pleas and carefully made his way around several people who outlined areas where bodies lay covered. Prime knelt on one knee, attending Tolomsky.

"Don't look down," the Chief of police warned, "but there's a necklace lying right next to my foot. I wouldn't let them have it, figuring it might have radiation or something."

Rodimus nodded silently and waited for Tolomsky to remove his foot. Then Prime waited to unobtrusively pick up the necklace.

Jax was right; the necklace was almost glowing with radiation. "What have your boys found so far?" Roddi glanced this way and that, noticing the bodies weren't just shot, but partially vaporized. The smell was almost nauseating.

Tolomsky laid a hand on one of his 'boys'; a gentleman somewhere in his forties with keen eyes and a digipad in his hand. "Rodimus, this is Lieutenant Roger Anoki. He's a missing persons specialist, ad infinitum, that sorta thing. Roge, woulda tell him what you've found?"

Lieutenant Anoki glanced at Rusti's parents first then with a frown, looked to Prime. "Semi-organic acid trails are everywhere here. There's traces of cold radiation scars in five primary locations. The bodies, as you see, have been partially vaporized and we have something like five or six different DNA samples that prove there were several more people here-and most of them have disappeared via some other, uhh alien or unknown technology. My best guess here is the perpetrator's goal was abduction, not out right murder."

Rodimus darkened his optics at Anoki. "What does that mean? What are you saying?" He looked from Anoki to Tolomski. "Oh Primus," Roddi whispered when it dawned on him; "The Quintessons have come up with new teleportation technology."

No one had an answer for either his assumption or his mood. Tolomsky watched the Autobot leader until one of his 'boys' approached him with a digipad and the chief diverted his attention to the job at hand.

Rodimus brooded over the moment and the incident, wondering what he could have done.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Same old song as Optimus 'sang'.

"Well, isn't this grand?" Delphra's sneering voice rang above the buzzing of onlookers, crowd control and workers. "The Autobots adopt a little girl, act like she were some kind of PET then forget to use a leash and collar on her! Tell us, RODIMUS PRIME, did you tag her with one of those 'lost and found' chip implants? Did you make sure she's up to date with all her shots? Did you make an appointment to have her spayed?"

Rodimus shot her a dirty look. Keep the lips zipped and the optics peeled, he told himself. Concentrate. Besides, he loved that girl more than that . . . 'woman' ever could. He used to bathe her as a baby, rocked her to sleep when Netty dropped her off for the weekend to party with friends.

"Excuse me, please let me through!" a tall graceful lady pressed her way between officer and onlooker alike. Rodimus and Tolomsky turned to greet Cody's mom in unison.

Tolomsky softly moaned, indicating a mood of dreaded reluctance. He abandoned one of his men and approached Miss Greydon with courtesy and sympathy.

Rodimus watched their interaction and ached for Cody's mother as she broke down in front of everyone. A teacher beside her embraced the grieving woman while Tolomsky tried to assure her they'd do everything within their power to find and rescue Cody. But Rodimus knew that Jax knew the situation was out of city police hands.

Rodimus approached her, aching more for the two people he too lost. "I'm very sorry about this, Mrs. Greydon," he said softly as she kept sobbing. "We're going to do everything we can to bring Cody and Rusti back." But Rodimus himself found no strength in his own words. His only comfort was in the hope that in finding the two kids, they'd also find Optimus Prime.

"What a line of B.S.!" Delphra snapped from the sideline. Rodimus braced for more tongue lashing. "A few months ago you and Prime were trying to KILL each other, not to mention everyone on this PLANET and now you want us to TRUST you with our lives . . . our children?"

Rodimus stood to his full height. "Sorry, Delphra, I don't have time to engage in a battle of wits with you today. I have several missing people, three of whom happen to be personally important to me." he started to turn away, hoping to have the last word.

"Three?" Delphra egged on, "oh, you're talking about Optimus Prime's suspicious disappearance. Rumor says he's suspected of suicide. well, I hardly see how that's such a bad thing, Rodimus. Optimus Prime is such an old worthless, powerless bloag, it's a wonder the Autobots don't just use him as a scarecrow in the middle of Fort Max to keep away the Quints!"

Rodimus snapped around, optics flaring with rising anger, "THAT'S ENOUGH!" He studied her face as she closed her lips, but her expression burned with bitter anger. He held her eyes until Netty wisely bade her sister to depart from the scene. Netty's own shameful, fearful gaze did nothing to lessen Roddi's smoldering stare.

Daniel, who had been with the ladies, kept silent. He watched Delphra's attempt to rouse Rodimus' ire but seemed more interested in the investigation than his sister-in-law's crass behavior. His silence allowed Rodimus to turn back to the problem at hand and to Tolomsky who crouched with three other investigators around another discovery on the ground.

A 'Q' was hastily scribble in frost mauve lipstick. One investigator took a sample while another took photographs from every angle. The third, a lady, joined them a moment later, holding a tube of lipstick the same color.

"It's Rusti's," Roddi confirmed.

Tolomsky nodded. "And 'Q' for Quintesson, maybe? I know she's a bright kid. Too bad she could not have given us the coordinates to her destination, too."

Roddi's optics darkened again as an idea slowly formed. "True," he agreed, "but there might be a way to track ion trails. They could not have just disappeared without a trace." he paused a moment, staring at the mark left by his Lady Friend. It hurt because the scribble was so bad, it was obviously written in terror.

Okay, stay focused. A job needs to be done.

"Jax, keep me informed. I'll contact you if I get anything." Rodimus left the scene, ignoring Daniel's attempt to ask him something. He was not in the mood to deal with the Witwickys. Rodimus felt just as empty now as when he arrived, but at least he had a bit more hope.

---------------------------------------

The second scream roused her from unconsciousness. Rusti moaned as her body complained of bruises, scratches and a cut along the left jaw. At first the world came empty and silent like her present mind. But as her senses awakened, Rusti heard things in a distance; the whirrs and hums of machines, muttering of low, ominous voices and the occasional cry of pain.

She stretched her cramped legs and lifted an arm off a cold metal floor. It was then that she realized her left arm was wrapped tightly in cloth and a piece of metal acted as a leveler to keep her wrist from bending.

Rusti did not recall breaking her wrist. She felt about the material until the scream sounded again, voicing a tempo of agony and a melody of loneliness. Rusti understood that loneliness and laid her broken hand over her heart. The sadness of the plight filled her and sympathetically, the girl mentally Reached for the source. Fleeting thoughts of worthlessness assaulted her and Rusti could not stop the tears. She curled into a tight ball, attempting to comfort herself. She could not remember how she got here or what happened before then. She listened hard for other tell-tale signs of her whereabouts. There was a tiny light overhead and to the far left of her. Other than that, the girl assumed she was completely alone.

And what of the scream that roused her? Maybe it was a distant sound; something of her dreams now forgotten.

There! It came again, haunting her nerves and sending chills down her spine. Goosebumps covered her arms. Her breath stopped. The scream sounded like that of a tortured animal or person. Its mournful wail faded back into the deadly silence. Rusti was saddened by its disappearance. Maybe its owner died a slow, agonizing death. But after a moment, Rusti realized the scream was not something she actually heard, but sensed. She puzzled over it, momentarily forgetting her own discomfort and anxiety. Where did it come from? If it was not something physical, was it from within herself? Maybe. Maybe. With a deep breath, Rusti tried to silence it-and her own growing anxiety-by ignoring it.

Sleep conquered her for a while. She drifted between worlds, somewhat aware of her surroundings but more aware of the noises in her head. She thought she heard her teacher's voices; Mr. Caputo's or her English teacher. But the voices came drowned, muttering in words she could not recognize. Strange clicking interceded with mumbling and again screams and cries echoed through the lightless world.

The one scream came back to her. Rusti could not keep from weeping and she imagined herself embracing the scream itself.

"Shhh. Shh. You're not alone, now." her eyes fluttered open, her sight distorted by tears. The fingers of her good hand grasped cold metal floor and she wondered why she tried to quiet something as abstract as a scream. Nevertheless, the scream hushed in compliance, reducing itself to weeping.

That was not a scream that wept, now, but a soul. That was someone Rusti contacted empathically. Wake up, girl, concentrate. Whose soul was it? And who would torture someone to such degree?

Rusti forced herself to sit up, staring into the bleak darkness, carefully holding her injured hand. She had no idea she sat in a large cage. The girl hunted with all her senses. She suspected she knew who it was, but hoped she was wrong.

Rusti came close, finding the soul trapped in darkness. She Reached to Touch it, but the person's mind withered away, fearful. She resisted the urge to chase after; the soul had no place to go, no place to hide. Rusti slowly approached and soothed the other Presence with sympathy and kindness.

Wearied from exposure to pain, the soul surrendered to her persistence. Rusti was right; the soul was as familiar to her as her own. She embraced him, dispelling the terrible loneliness. But even with her love and assurance, she could not erase the depression of worthlessness.

The girl embraced herself and squeezed her eyes tight. Fight to remain alive for the next moment, the next hour, the hour after that. "Don't leave," she whispered.

"Shhh."

Rusti caught her breath so fast she about choked on air. She clumsily scooted back with her one hand, wildly darting her eyes from one dark corner to another.

"Rus."

She swallowed air. "Cody?" her voice sounded too loud and she shifted to whispers: "Cody? Cody?" Cold clammy hands met hers and the girl all but jumped to her knees, wrapping her arms around a familiar person. Cody's strong arms wrapped about her cold form and Rusti choked back a sob. She sat back down, her hands about his flushed cheeks. She could not see his eyes, but searched for them anyway. "Ohmigod! Where are we?"

"Calm down, calm down. You should not be moving around like that. They did tests on you and you need to rest."

"What?" Rusti again swallowed air. She gripped her injured arm, finding her heart fluttering with increasing fear.

"I don't know what kind of tests." Cody's voice remained steady, as though he anticipated her reaction. "You came back with a sprung or broken wrist. I did what I could."

The Scream shot through the air, sending poisoned icicles into her chest. Rusti bent clear over until she nearly touched the metal flooring with her forehead. She thought she was going to have a heart attack. "Oh, gawd." she could not breathe as pain pounded in the back of her neck. She thought her head was going to explode. Visions of faces, distorted and horror-stricken by eerie lighting flashed through her mind. Her limbs felt weak like hot rubber and it took a good deal of resolve to remain sitting on her knees. Quick, shallow breaths kept her from falling to darkness.

Cody's cold hand laid on the back of her neck, bringing Rusti's mind back to the present. "You can feel it, can't you?" he asked.

Rusti trembled, forcing words from her throat, "What?"

"Whatever they're doing to Optimus Prime."

She could not believe Cody had the audacity to put a name to the soul she kept close to her heart. The girl realized she did not want to put a name to the tortured soul. It was like pronouncing a hex on the person she loved. "What!" she choked again. "No, no!" She wept and Cody held her close. "What are they doing to him?" she sobbed. But she honestly did not want to know. She did not want to believe the Quintessons had taken them. Bastards!

"I don't know, Rus. From what I've seen, it has something to do with the space station." he replied softly.

Rusti swallowed hard, struggling to be brave. But her voice betrayed her. "What station?"

"The space station we're on. The one circling Alpha Centauri."

The shocking news gave her enough strength to gently pull from Cody's arms. She could just see the outlining features of his face and the lights of his eyes. "That's . . . impossible. That's four light years away. Even Quintesson technology doesn't have the wherewithal to bring us here in such a short time."

"Apparently, they do, Rus."

Pain pierced her chest again and another scream followed. Rusti realized she was now hearing the screams with her ears as well as her mind. She gripped her chest and wept. They were killing him! "Bastards!" The pain subsided for the moment and her anguish turned to anger. She narrowed her eyes at Cody, gasping. "Why? And what do they want with you?"

In answer to her question, the silhouette of a Quintesson appeared, sending shivers down Cody's back. Rusti could not bear to look; the shadow on the wall before her was enough a horror. And when the Quintesson spoke, Rusti thought she was going to throw up from anxiety.

"He is biologically perfect. You are a loose end."

Rusti privately took comfort knowing she was a nuisance to them.

"The deoxyribonucleic acid specimen we collected from the male proved positive. He contains the correct genetic sequence." The Quintesson was not speaking to them, but to a single-faced companion standing somewhere out of sight.

They were talking about Cody. Anger and fear roused Rusti's courage and she finally faced the freak in front of their cell. "What are you talking about?" her mousy voice managed to rise a few octaves above a whisper. Rusti refused to be embarrassed, gluing her eyes on the gloating Quintesson bastard.

The faces shifted to the yellow and blue color Rusti identified as the Face of Deceit. "We were foolish not to consider a closer examination on the relationship between the Human species and the electromagnetic influence brought on by the resident Autobot population on Earth. This female exhibits remarkable properties not noted before during our initial examination following the Unicronian War. Apparently, the Human genetic structure is changing due to the infiltration of the Autobot population. We did not anticipate her connection with the Matrix until studies proved the empathy she apparently shares with the current subject."

The frowning single-faced Quint peered in like one looking at a pair of bugs. Its long tentacles whipped about like writhing green and white snakes. "She may prove worthy of our interest. Readings indicate a higher consciousness than the male specimen. Her DNA may not be of significant interest, but if the project fails with Optimus Prime, we might try it through her."

The first Quint switched to the orange and blue face of Judgment: "Seven point two percent probability she has direct interface with the Autobot Matrix. Her use is minimal; we may test her psychic abilities but the body will be disposed as feed for other subjects."

The reality of her precarious position sobered Rusti into silence. She remembered, too that Cody said they were on a space station somewhere around Alpha Centauri. There could not possibly be anyway Rodimus could come to their rescue in time. Not all the way out here.

Not without a miracle.

As the two Quintessons silently departed, Rusti laid her head on Cody's shoulder, shivering. She thought herself bleeding to death.

"It's weird, you know that, Rus?" Cody's voice gently brought her back from sleep.

Rusti forced her mind to return to the moment, no matter how weary and depressed she felt. "What's that, Cody?' her voice broke between soft tones and a cracked whisper.

"How the Quintessons treat their creations. Assuming, of course, the Quints actually are responsible for giving the Autobots sapient life. You know, most creators, artists or writers or people who have children, treat their 'creations' with love, adoration and protect them from harm. But the Quintessons treat the Transformers like a little girl playing with another girl's doll. They have no concern for their 'children' whatsoever. You said the Quintessons created the Transformers. But they have no more love for their people than a farmer would for his cows or pigs."

Rusti silently nodded, giving the statement some consideration until an icicle of pain sank through her head. Rusti thought she was going to vomit. Her body fell limp in Cody's arms as she passed out.

---------------------------------------

The last thing he remembered was finding a silent moment in the garden. Little by little, Prime began to reassemble the pieces to the garden, the plants and his life. Nothing was going to be the same again. Not for him, for Rodimus, Rusti or their people. How much time he and Roddi had against the Virus was anyone's guess. Optimus considered the situation constantly. He weighed good and bad points but could not come to a conclusion.

He had, of course, considered alternatives to the present situation. He could simply resign and hand the mantle of his position to someone with a clearer head. That, naturally, meant Ultra Magnus. The problem with that scenario was it left him even more purposeless than before.

Besides, if he left, Roddi would either do the same, or kick him in the backside for giving up.

Prime knelt before a shattered planter. The life form therein had long since died, pulled by the roots and tossed like so much garbage. He did not even remember what plant it was. Staring at the planter, Prime thought of his life like the broken casing and all the soil spilling out on the floor. It occurred to him that like the soil here, his time was growing short. In the end, the Virus would claim his and Roddi's life and perhaps rather than wallow in misery and self pity, he should consider the beginnings of securing the future. What would he leave his people when he and Roddi died? They'd need refuge and protection. They'd need a better direction than what he had given them in the past. They needed a goal to keep moving forward after their leaders died. After all, death should not mean the end of their society.

Perhaps it was time to get back to work on Mars.

Prime's plans, however, were cut short by the sudden appearance of three Quintesson lords and two armed guards. Where they came from or how they suddenly appeared without tripping any alarms, or Max knowing about it was information Optimus Prime did not have time to process. Pain sliced through him like hot acid and then the light went out.

Waking was painful. His body hung suspended high above the floor, clamped tightly by braces and a vice-like machine that held his head perfectly still. His sensors measured the circumference of a cavernous room, rich with oxygen. Laboratory equipment and cages of every imaginable size lined the walls floor to ceiling. Uneven lighting made it difficult to see some objects clearly such as those life forms held in cages.

Control boards, monitors, scanners of every sort and island tables, brightly lit and burdened with chemical beakers, dotted the landscape. Quintessons came and left every part of the room, muttering to each other in their emotionless, quiet language.

The mechanism to which Prime was connected hummed and vibrated with activity. He could not guess its purpose, other than torment and while he knew Quintessons enjoyed torturing others for fun, the Autobot leader guessed he was here for a more sinister purpose. He took inventory of his systems, finding foreign coils snaking in and out of his back. Fluids foreign to his body infiltrated his systemic nocturn slips, causing painful friction. He tried to shut down all unnecessary, involuntary systems, but his internal commands were intercepted by another program currently hacking in from the machine that held him prisoner.

Prime tried to reroute his system commands and found all command codes blocked; systems inaccessible.

He was all theirs: body, mind and Matrix.

A single-faced Quintesson approached, reading a digipad. Its eyes drifted from the pad to Prime. It moaned and murmured in its own language and a five-face floated beside it, glancing at the pad once then peering at Prime. It switched from Deceit to Death. "Do not be afraid to speak in Autobot, Naukul. This one deserves to know what we plan to do. The demise of his species is imminent and it pleases me to inform him he will play a part in their annihilation."

Optimus did not want his people to perish. He often wondered what contribution his people made in the vastness of space. Were they just play-things for other species, or was there a real purpose to their existence? Why was it so necessary to stay alive?

The Quintesson lord ran a filthy tentacle across Prime's face plate. "What's this?" it demanded. "Why are your face plates wet? Repulsive! You are a machine! Why do you insist on imitating organic creatures?"

A second five-faced Quint approached, staring suspiciously. "Disturbingly fascinating. Certain behavior patterns have been adapted and altered so they can act and apply action similar to that of their Human interactives. Perhaps this would eventuate in the definement of other protocols within their society such as meaningless abstract ideas like celebrating holidays or mourning for the deceased long after death."

But the Autobots were already 'committing such notions.' The Quintessons did not know everything and obviously, some of their investigative data was incomplete. But Optimus thought it pointless to correct their oversight. It was far better that the less the Quints knew of his people, the better things were. Weariness assailed him again. How long were they going to keep this up?

The single-faced Quint adjusted a few controls along the machine surrounding Optimus Prime then silently signaled another pair of Quints at a table island. One of them hit a switch and a searing hot spike lanced through his back.

Optimus nearly lost consciousness. Fluids spilled down the backs of his legs, dripping blue and grey on the floor. Pain restricted his coolant systems and he struggled to intake oxygen. Close program and hit delete! If he were that worthless to them as a person, as a creature with a mind and will of his own, why didn't they simply erase him? But, he digressed, the Quintessons knew nothing of mercy. It did not matter whether or not he was suffering.

Optimus tried to move his arms and could not. The bastards dismantled his hands to connect him to the machine. Worthlessness filled his soul. He really made a mess of the situation. How incompetent could a leader be, anyway? All he wanted was to settle matters with the Quintessons. But his efforts only proved he needed to be replaced as leader of the Autobots.

Something like a soft kiss brushed against his soul. It was a presence he did not readily recognize and he shied from it, fearful he would emotionally fall to pieces. "I will die here," he whispered. And for Optimus, it was more a heartfelt wish than mere fact.

A soft greyness enshrouded him and Prime felt separated from the present reality. The Quintessons impaled the back of his cranium casing with a hot black rod.

The world turned black.


	5. Chapter 5

TRANSFORMERS: Silent Scream

Chapter 5

A grey wet afternoon clouded the sky above Douglas County. The sullen sky matched Roddi's brooding mood and strangely enough, Roddi was grateful for the sunless day. Worry and fear ate him up and threatened to stir the anger that presently lay in remission status.

The one bit of comfort Roddi held at the moment was the time in which he requested a private meeting with Ambassador Cleprachaun. He purposefully set it within half an hour just to see if he could raise the Quint's ire. It pleased the mischievous Autobot leader no end to ruffle a few Quintesson feathers-so to speak. Rodimus knew he should bring someone else to the meeting; Magnus or Kup or Strike Back. If he lost his temper, most likely he'd lash out at the Quints and there would be no one to hold him back. Lashing out certainly was not the greatest tool for diplomacy. But sometimes it was the only thing the Quintessons respected. The plan wasn't necessarily a **bad** one; just not a good one.

The Autobot leader stewed and snarled to himself the entire length of the hallway. Roddi had no intentions of a holding a full-staffed board meeting. Nor did he plan to keep it civil. He wanted answers and by Primus, he was going to get them. What really ticked at Roddi's short fuse was that the kidnapping made no sense. Okay, so what if they were responsible for Optimus' disappearance, by whatever means. Where's the logic? And why would they bother with a few seeming insignificant Humans?

Rodimus could see why they'd take Rusti, not that the Quints had information about her (supposedly) but why Cody Greydon? He was just an ordinary kid from a single-parent home.

He stepped through the conference room double doors and found the Quintesson ambassador and his assistant waiting for him. Actually, they paid little or no attention to him. Their faces stared, but their attention remained directed in discussion over the rebuilding of Fort Max, droning in their creepy low-toned voices.

Rodimus stepped from the doorway as it hissed shut behind him. The two turned their faces to Greed; their expressions as impassioned and inexpressionate as always.

"Greetings, Rodimus Prime." Ambassador Cleprachaun's words seemed icier than usual.

Rodimus gave him the cold shoulder in response, optics turning from Cleprachaun to his assistant. They all looked alike. At least it was nice that their voices were not the same.

Rodimus actually considered being civil at first. A moment of weakness, his Viral Self sneered. And It judged the distance between the two Quintessons and their distance from him. The table stood between them. If Cleprachaun and his assistant were armed, it would most likely be their weapons lay safely in subspace. Their advantage was their tentacles and whatever plasma weapons they wielded. Roddi's advantage was that he himself was armed and knew the room's interior and where other weapons lay hidden in walls or under the floor.

Cleprachaun entangled a set of his tentacles, seeming more impatient by the moment. "I hope this conversation has an end to its means, Rodimus Prime. Your timing is undesired."

Roddi darkened his optics. "Alright, I'll cut the crap. Where is Optimus Prime and what do you want in exchange for his and the Humans' release?"

The Quintessons stared in disgust. The assistant switched to his face of Deceit, tentacles flaying, "This allegation is intolerable! What proof-"

"Don't patronize me!" Rodimus shouted with a pound into the metal table. "I am NOT in the mood! And if you keep SCREWING around with me, you'll be in so many pieces they'll have to find your parts with a macro-electronic microscope. Do I make myself clear!"

The assistant growled. "Your words are meaningless to us, Autobot. In light of the Project, even our lives are expendable."

Count to ten. No, screw ten. Count to fifty. Rodimus stared at the cold silvery surface of the conference table. He noticed he was taking in extra oxygen to keep his systems cool. Not a great sign. Okay, they were just words, right? Don't have to take them seriously. Just words.

But that reasoning didn't work too well, either. And even after reaching the count of 300 in seven seconds, it took everything Rodimus had to keep from leaping over the table and ripping the Quint into fragments.

Try another approach. Rodimus lifted his chin, daring to stare them in the optics again. "What. Project."

Cleprachaun and his assistant glanced at each other before Cleprachaun decided to speak: "Conclusions have been assessed that other than the quark and the nactite, the single most powerful force in this reality is sentience. Once contained, it can be manipulated to expand, extend and constrict the fabric of reality itself, thereby accessing or sealing rifts. However, to contain and manipulate sentience, certain parameters must be set and frequencies obtained in pan-dimensional environments."

Through all the jargon, Rodimus caught two words: sentience and manipulation. He narrowed his optics in suspicion and dared a wild guess: "You're referring to the Matrix."

But the Quints refused to confirm.

Now they were trying to ruffle Roddi's feathers; and it didn't take much to do that. Still, the Autobot leader had some meager measure of self control, virus or not. but the temptation to blow in their faces was terrible. "What makes you think you can do whatever you please? You don't have that power, let alone the authority. Whatever you're attempting will backfire. Take my word for it. The Matrix will not tolerate tampering of any kind."

Cleprachaun switched to Face of Death while his assistant swiveled to the Face of Vengeance: "We do not need to explain or justify ourselves to you." They answered in chorus.

That rubbed Roddi the wrong way and he leaned toward them just slightly. "How about a viral-infected Matrix? Or did your intelligence conveniently forget to mention that?"

"The conditions were finally perfect." Ambassador Cleprachaun concurred. "It might surprise you to know that it took twenty-five point nine earth years and three hundred seventy-one telepaths to mentally break Optimus Prime. He has been quite a challenge. But in the end, we are still proven your superiors."

Rodimus felt every system in his body freeze as though in sudden stasis. "You're responsible for the Virus?" he almost could not say it.

The assistant lifted its face, looking rather smug. "His neural crash is the final result of several meticulous psychic assaults. The weakest point was his regret in the attempt to kill you, Rodimus Prime, on the mausoleum thirty-eight years ago. Ironically, the one person he considers his strength is his weakness."

Cleprachaun's tentacles snapped about his floating torso-less body. Rodimus just realized how badly the two Quints stank. But the shocking truth of the situation kept him immobilized for a moment longer. Cleprachaun, however, was not finished gloating: "I'm certain the demise of the Autobot species will require little work, now that you have also suffered a neural crash. Consider it, Rodimus Prime: Upon your imminent suicide, the Autobots will seek leadership elsewhere. We know that without the leaders, the Transformers species is doomed, collapsing not unlike the termite or bee colonies here on Earth. Kill the leaders, the population falls into terminal despair and dies."

The words ate into Rodimus' heart like a corrosive acid. He and Optimus Prime severely underestimated the Quintessons. Now everyone would pay for the oversight and ignorance. But Rodimus could not swallow the idea that the Autobots would fall to extinction once he and Optimus died. The Autobots had been without a Prime before and they survived. "You're both liars," he snarled.

"Incorrect assumption." Cleprachaun returned softly. "You are simply merchandise. The Autobots and the Decepticons might have . . . evolved over the megania, but you are still simply machines. You still follow basic program instructions. At this point, all your corrupted files have led your kind to believe you have the right to live out a sentient life. But in actuality, you are all living a lie. It is time to reformat and reprogram."

The words kept hurting. No! The Quintessons were wrong, they HAD to be! All life forms that had a physical form were machines of one kind or another. Even Humans were machines of a sort. Rodimus again pounded the table. "We are life forms!"

"Irrelevant." the Ambassador passed off. "You are still our merchandise; ours to do with as we please."

"No!" Rodimus thought he was going to explode. Then it occurred to him: the argument was more a diversion. They had cleverly driven him off the reason he demanded a meeting. He wanted to tear them apart, face by face, one tentacle at a time and the table was the only thing that kept him at bay. Back to the original subject! "WHERE. IS. OPTIMUS PRIME?"

The Assistant switched to his Face of Hate and Rodimus liked it less than Death. Its pointy little chin and horns atop its head resembled a devil. "Perhaps it would encourage you to learn how we appreciated the Autobots over the Decepticons. When we controlled Cybertron, the Autobots-"

"SHUT UP!" Rodimus exploded. "There were no Autobots and Decepticons when the Quintessons ruled Cybertron and you're a fucking liar!"

Both Quints sighed. Cleprachaun folded one set of tentacles. "Rodimus Prime, there is no need to stoop to expletives. We can understand your agitation-"

Roddi took one breath, "Where is Optimus Prime?"

"-As for the history lesson, we concur your correction. But my intention was-"

"Where is Optimus Prime?" Rodimus' voice fell dangerously quiet.

"-to use the names in reference. So that the two of us understood one another. Your tantrum will accomplish nothing."

"Where. Is. Optimus Prime?"

"Irrelevant."

Wrong answer.

Rodimus did not even remember leaping over the table. He moved so fast, Cleprachaun's assistant had no time to reach for his weapon. He managed to keep the mad Autobot at bay long enough to reach into subspace for his gun. Rodimus ducked as the wall and the floor under it melted. The Quint fired again, still missing the Autobot. Rodimus dodged, rolled, produced his rifle and blew the alien. Blood and mech fluids splattered the wall, the floor, the table and sprayed the Autobot's feet. Rodimus coldly stepped over the carcass and trained his weapon on Cleprachaun.

"I have not slept one peaceful night in four months. The only thing that's keeping me from killing you is information. You can give it to me now, or as I tear you apart, one face, one tentacle, at a time. And don't think I won't do it. Optimus has always played the nice guy. But his policies aren't MY policies. Understand?"

Cleprachaun neither moved or spoke. Rodimus' optics flared bright with barely controlled rage. The Virus affected Prime more than Cleprachaun or other members of the Continuum calculated.

The Quint glanced all around the room. The windows were transparent titanium: 'assassin-resistant glass.' Short of using a star bomb, there was no way out of the room except the doorway.

But there was the table. He slipped under the table and shot the doors, creating his escape route. Rodimus chased after, thinking of every vile word he knew. He tracked the Quint down the stair way, across the fourth floor and into the elevator. The Quintesson moved with good speed and managed to break free of the building, pushing and shoving anyone in his way. He floated across the courtyard, down the five steps and around the fountain. Prime pounded after him like a mad dog.

Humans, aliens and Autobots alike made way as the Quint ran screaming, demanding safety and refuge. He rounded Central Command toward the same fountain he and Ambassador Koontah attended not many days ago. He did not see a green Autobot dip from the sky, changing from helicopter mode to robot until the Autobot was directly in his path. Cleprachaun slammed into Springer and bounced off the wrecker.

Springer drew his sword, his blue optics cool.

Rodimus leapt forward and grabbed the alien by the tentacles. Cleprachaun squealed in sheer terror as Ultra Magnus, revved at high speed, transformed and skidded along the metal flooring, showering sparks. He too drew his weapon and held it at the Quintesson. Kup dashed up behind Rodimus but did not draw his gun.

Rodimus ambled to his feet, a bit shaken by the frantic chase. He felt better, now, a little clearer. "Alright," he growled, changing the setting on his weapon. "Spill it, or you'll meet your friend in whatever afterlife Quintessons believe in."

"He's raving mad!" Cleprachaun cried. "Are you all going to just stand there and let him torment me like this? We had a truce!"

Magnus set his face hard. "That was before Ambassador Koontah warned us you Quintessons were using psychokinetics to attack the city. Any attack on Fortress Maximus and its citizens is considered a breach of trust."

Kup dared a step forward, but did not move past Rodimus. "I suggest you do exactly what Rodimus Prime demands, Ambassador. He's a walking time bomb."

"Optimus Prime." Roddi did not think he needed to say anything more. With a bit of luck, the ambassador would cooperate this time; no one would stand between the Quintesson and an enraged Autobot leader.

The Quint turned its Face of Greed to Rodimus, but it said nothing.

Springer poked Cleprachaun with the tip of his sword. "Answer his question."

The ambassador winced and his tentacles limped about his floating form. "The Ellipsis," he finally answered. "They're on the Ellipsis. But you'll never get there. It's four light years away."

Rodimus felt torn between rage and despair. How was that possible? Even using Gate 09-A or Gate 37-27G, a journey that far away was nearly inconceivable if Rodimus wanted to get there in time. Beta Centauri had their own gates but could not be used without explicit permission from authorities. And the gate nearby Alpha Centauri was damaged.

But if the Quints had a base out there in the dark matter clouds of Alpha Centauri, chances were, they had developed new and dangerous technologies of inter-space travel.

Cleprachaun watched every Autobot around him. Rodimus had relaxed just minutely. Magnus was ready to fire, in fact, his finger pressed against the trigger just enough so that the weapon could fire on its own at any second. Springer, too, relaxed just the slightest. Kup looked away for a split second, but it was enough. The Quintesson produced a small but powerful hand laser. He shot Springer and Magnus, first, which caused Kup to overreact and as Cleprachaun dodged Springer's sword, he slapped Kup off his feet and lunged for Rodimus.

Rodimus fired his weapon, but the shot went wide and Cleprachaun's tentacles completely wrapped around the Autobot leader. Rodimus struggled uselessly.

Magnus leapt, reaching for the ambassador's Face of Deceit but a dimensional door whooshed open and the Quint and his prisoner disappeared in a burst of light.

---------------------------------------

Rusti awoke sore and exhausted. Her troubled dreams were wrought with unfamiliar faces and frightening sounds. Her head pounded so that her eyesight came in lighted or darkened blurs. Her hair hung limp, soaked cold and her clothes were torn in several places; including her undergarments. She never felt either more miserable or dirtier. Rusti longed for a warm bath and her soft snugly bed. Sleep called but the migraine and the freezing hard floor refused her comfort of any sort.

Rusti struggled to sit up, finding her aching head swimming with the effort. She probably should not move, but the floor was just too cold and hard. Her aching muscles complained and her skin hurt in many areas. What the heck did she do to have so much pain? She struggled to think of an exercise or maybe a fight, even an afternoon of Dinobot football. But nothing came to memory.

Where was she, anyway?

"Rus?" That was Cody's voice quietly calling through the darkness. "Izzat You?"

"Yeah." There was that mousy voice of hers again. She sounded as frightened and unwell as she felt. "I fell asleep, hu?"

"They took you some time ago. I've been here waiting for you to come back. I figured you were unconscious. I tried to wake you a couple of times."

"Took me?" she echoed. "What do you mean?" Fear gripped her and one memory connected to another; faces and sounds . . . instruments.

Pause. "Nothin'. You okay?"

Instruments and questions. Monitors and needles too large for her body. Rusti started to panic. They tore her clothes and stabbed her with things . . . "No! No!" she shook her hands as if they were covered with something unholy and the girl hid her eyes as fear and panic threw her into emotional overload. Rusti wanted to bow over and cry, but the migraine was such that she simply could not move. She wept, feeling as helpless as the day she was on a city bus attacked by a war cult. Inwardly she screamed for help, but her sobs were such that she could not vocalize.

A hand touched her leg. It was warmer than the floor and no larger than her own hands. Kind warm arms surrounded her.

"Help!" her mousy voice only came as a whisper. Cody gently wrapped his arms about her and held her close to his chest. His warmth smelled of autumn rain and salty ocean air. His heart beat strongly. Rusti could not stop trembling. His voice filled the silence and she loved its familiar tones. But she was too distraught to answer.

Her heavy eyes lifted in the dark, perceiving only the bleakest of light seeping into the cell. Optimus was here. Weakly Rusti's fingers touched her breastbone as sadness assailed her fears. She thought he had betrayed her, when it was she who betrayed him, his faithfulness. What a stupid, over-reactive girl! Tears made her head hurt more but she could not keep them back. Shame made her feel worse and rather than snuggle into her bed, Rusti just wanted to crawl into a corner and hide her face.

Worst yet, and more confusing still, Cody was here, taking care of her as best he could. How cruel and thoughtless she was for thinking of Optimus Prime, feeling so remorseful and frightened for him when Cody was living the moment, keeping her warm. Rusti sniffed, wishing for a tissue, damning the moment and herself for the situation. She closed her eyes and tried to let her mind and body rest.

"Do you need to lie down, Rusti?"

Rusti's eyes fluttered open and she managed to lift her head some. "What?" another pitiful whisper.

"I could lay down you could sleep on my shoulder for a while. It's not much, but might be warmer than the floor."

She did not really want to move and would have said so when it occurred to her that it was his way of saying he needed to lie down. Rusti found his hands, now wet and cold. "Um, okay," she accepted. She sat up and the world turned upside down and her stomach almost went with it. She heard Cody move around and for some reason, she expected to find Optimus there with them. But he was not. She swallowed hard, hurting for him.

Cody found her hand and whispered something incoherent. Rusti felt as though she were taking advantage of his kindness and reluctantly laid her head on his shoulder. She hurt for him as his arm rounded her back and rested on her upper arm. Lying down did reduce the throbbing headache. Perhaps the migraine could be slept off. Rusti came within seconds of blissful sleep when Cody's voice sounded soft in the air, calling to her.

"Rus?"

"Hmm?"

"You know geeky Mr. Walters in Trig?"

"Hmm, hmm."

"Been thinking 'bout the old fart. He needs a good practical joke. Just one. Cuz, you know, he's such a stiff. I'll bet he feeds his kids differentials for breakfast."

Rusti puzzled over the proposal, not quite catching the rest of Cody's humor. ". . . a joke?" she finally stopped feeling stupid about her weakened voice. Cody didn't seem to mind, anyway.

"Well, you know, something that everyone can appreciate." Cody Greydon thought hard for a moment and Rusti almost fell to sleep again when his voice filtered back through her dream and brought her back to the moment. "How about those stupid tunes he plays in the background?"

"His Mozart music?"

"Yeah. It'd be a riot if someone could secretly replace it with Metallica, or something."

A smile crossed her lips. Metallica was a group as old as her grandfather and as loud as Blaster's favorite tunes, if not worse. "You're an evil genius." she teased weakly. "Thing of it is, Mr. Walters uses an ancient cassette tape medium. Unless I can find someone who has some old stuff, I dunno if that can be switched." She thought about it a moment longer then realized the answer was already mentioned. "I guess I could talk Steeljaw into helping out. He's got a thing or two for practical jokes. And better yet, he won't tell anybody."

"Rus . . . I have to ask something."

"Okay." She really just wanted to sleep.

"You were there when Optimus and Rodimus were fighting, or rather stopped fighting. What happened? Can you tell me? Do you remember? Was it really you who stopped the two from killing each other?"

Thinking hurt because she wanted to sleep so badly. "I Dunno." her words came slurred, clumsy. She thought hard, struggling to reform pictures of a blurred and ancient memory. "There was the bridge. I remember the clouds were so brown and grey." Rusti struggled against cold memory and amnesia to bring back feelings and moments when she ran from her Aunt Missy who tried to take her out of Fort Max.

Roller.

Autobot River.

And back to the city.

Dark shape . . . Faceless Darkness. Sleep.

"Have you ever walked in your sleep, Cody?"

Now it was his turn to contemplate in silence. "Maybe. I don't remember."

"It's like living in a dream. Have you ever had a dream so vivid it's like it was for real?"

"No. Not really."

"It's spooky. You can see and hear everything, you can smell and feel the clothes on your body. You can feel the air on your skin and when you wake up, you're freaked because the waking **is** the dream." Rusti sniffed and her face felt colder. Her fingers rubbed an itchy spot on her nose and found blood. Discretely, she wiped it with what was left of her shirt sleeve.

"So, you basically sleep-walked and found yourself waking to something you didn't see or expect?" Cody paused for a beat then added: "as if something else was controlling you?"

"Yes!" Rusti was excited that Cody pieced something with words that she herself could not put together. It was exciting, too, because another memory came to the surface. "I heard Music, Cody. It was . . . well, I can't describe it. But it was like a living thing, if you know what I mean. It was like sound, but more like the sound was alive, breathing, thinking. I was attracted to it, as though it was something I wanted to hold and keep. Kinda weird, I know."

"Why is it weird?"

"Cuz. I'm the only one who knows anything about it. And no one else would understand." She too paused a moment, "except you. You believe me."

"I believe you, Rusti, because you're dealing with life on a whole different level. You have contact. And whether you want to face up to it or not, you have a relationship with an alien intelligence. That's far from weird. It's magnificent."

Rusti never realize she never thought of the Matrix as an alien intelligence. But she supposed that it was and seeing it from that point of view, it didn't seem all that bad . . . or weird. "I guess so," she answered softly. She wanted to talk about it more with Cody, but sleep would not let her alone anymore. His lips carefully touched her forehead and he embraced her gently as Rusti fell unconscious.

---------------------------------------

Sudden and intense light painfully overloaded his optic sensory. Rodimus shied from it, falling to his knees, and covering his face. The reset clicks and high-pitched tones of several activated laser rifles told him he was surrounded. Rodimus slowly lowered his hands, his optics struggled to adjust to photonic shock. Through the blurred brightness, he made out the shapes of several Quintesson lords and their 'lovable' sharkticon guards.

"Rodimus Prime. This is an unpleasant inconvenience."

Roddi cautiously stood, keeping his hand units in plain view. "Deliberata." he greeted. "Not so nice to see you again, too. I hope you've bathed since your trip from Goo."

Deliberata switched to the Face of Hate. "Inconsequential. At this time, we are nearly prepared for the final phase of the Project. All things: time, resources and, if necessary, our lives, are concentrated on its success. Neither you, Optimus Prime, any of the Autobots OR Ambassador Koontah will intervene at this point."

Rodimus frowned then darkened his optics, "you'll excuse me if I don't do back flips in excitement. I think you should be aware that one way or another, Ultra Magnus will find his way here. He might make a mess of Cleprachaun's other assistants to do it-"

Cleprachaun snorted behind him, "The outrageous irrationality of your obsessive actions will not hinder us from accomplishing the task, Rodimus Prime."

Roddi turned and gave the Quintesson ambassador a chilling smile. "All the more to annoy you with, my dear, said the wolf to Red Riding Hood."

Celprachaun scooted back a few daring feet. "The Virus has possessed him to the point of erratic instability. Maubdual Om Onatha has seriously erred in his calculations and time frames. I suggest a re-triangulation in-"

"SHUT UP!" Roddi snapped and would have torn into the yammering Quintesson had not two sharkticons blocked his path like a pair of jumbo-sized football players. He bounced back, landing lightly on the floor but jumped right back to his feet, ready for a fight.

"Enough!" Deliberata raised the power on his weapon. "Cooperate with us, or die."

Wrong thing to say.

Rodimus yanked the laser rifle from the Quintesson standing beside him, kicked the tri-rifle out of Deliberata's tentacle and fired at Deliberata injuring his Face of Deceit.

The two 'football' sharkticons transformed. One swung his tail at Rodimus, the other tried to make lunch of his whole right side. Rodimus leapt to dodge the tail and jammed the rifle in the other 'con's mouth.

Deliberata, his body sweating, smoldering and smelling awful, switched to his Face of Death as he struggled to regain his dignity. "SHARKTICONS!" he screeched at the top of his voice, "ELIMINATE HIM!"

Roddi bounded around the other confused Quintessons and was glad they made way for his escape. Perhaps it was because they were confident their clumsy, oversized 'goldfish' were capable of doing the dirty work.

Rodimus easily transformed in mid-flight. He raced through the corridor, looking for turns or sharp corners. Not for half a mile did one appear. He made a right turn and found himself facing a dead end.

Rodimus searched the walls. They were smooth and rounded with no indication of a door or a control panel of any sort. He examined the floor for clues to a trap door, but again, the floor lay smooth and seamless.

"Okay, Mr. Brilliant," Roddi told himself, "better find an exit stage right and fast." He raised his optics but found the ceiling just as flawless. "No way," he snarled. "This is a right-turn. There HAS to be something here, even if it's just to eject something to outer space." The Autobot leader backtracked his steps several yards, searching for the elusive seams, doors or operational panels. Unless this part of the station was poured, there had to be something controlling the walls. But now his optics picked up the familiar crushing march of the two sharkticons. The stupid things might be slow mentally and physically, but they were persistent and closing in.

Think, think, think! Rodimus searched again.

Oh! The lights! His optics followed the light panels lining either side of the corridor. There was one seam. There's the second . . . and not far away was the hairline of a third. Tricky little buggers, those Quints. Roddi studied the third, his finger lined the filament of a line. He wold be lucky to slide a razor blade between the two halves.

But Roddi didn't have a razor blade. His own laser blaster would have to do the job. He hauled it out of subspace as the tromping sharkticon duet closed in. He set the power to low; he wanted to open a control panel, not blow the whole place to the Pitt.

The laser beam was of low intensity and cutting proved slow at best. Rodimus was far from patient and allowed the beam to cut about two yards down. He switched frequencies and using short bursts, punctured into the wall from the hairline so that he could easily peel back that portion of the wall.

The twin sharkticon guards found him at last, their rounded bodies stomped the floor as they advanced, weapons drawn.

Roddi peeled the hot, newly-cut panel back and searched blindly about, hoping to find conjunction slips or a transforming cog of any kind.

Just as he was about to give up and prepare to fight the two bumbling bozos, his hand found a conjunction slip. Rodimus yanked it upward, hoping it would changed the hallway configuration, but kept his own weapon ready.

His guess work was well rewarded but the conjunction slips did not work quite the way he hoped.

Rather than opening the wall to other corridors, the right-turn hall split floor from wall from ceiling and slid under itself, widening the area into a room. A new ceiling descended from another level in the station and two new walls came down with it. Rodimus dashed to avoid being crushed and escape his hunters.

One sharkticon proved less brighter than the other. Without a glance to its partner, the 'brightless one' charged after Rodimus. He did not, however, calculate the amount of time he had between reaching Roddi and when the double walls touched the floor.

There was only a nasty crunch as metal and fluids squished under the crushing weight of the station's transformation.

Rodimus did not bother to look back. As soon as he could, he transformed to auto mode and took off, speeding through the room and out the large entryway. Without a doubt the Quintessons would be less than pleased that their pets failed to retrieve their prey. It meant, of course, that the Quints would find something else to eliminate the 'vermin' in their station.

Rodimus hit the three-mile mark before realizing he didn't know where he was. He scanned for signs, boards or other markings indicating his whereabouts. His scanners ran across the gridwork on the ceiling above. There lay a jeffries tube above the lighting. It was also large enough for him to crawl through. And since there was a jeffries tube here, chances were there had to be tubes all over the space station.

Rodimus transformed and leapt high enough to grasp the metal grids between the lights. He struggled to tear off a bar but when mere strength failed, he used his arm weapons, blasting a nice sized hole. The Quints were bound to know his exact location, now. But Rodimus could not bother with that at the moment.

Dangling fifteen feet from the floor, he ripped through soft metals and some wiring. Power conduits ran to and fro and Rodimus did not want to damage those; that action could blow the whole station.

He found parallel support beams and lifted himself into the tube without disturbing the conduits. Nice job, he told himself.

So! Which way? Left, right or back down? Roddi glanced left then right and thought about tossing a coin, if he had one. Finally, he decided right because there seemed to be more light from the power conduits in that direction. He crawled several yards before encountering a fork in the path. Rodimus groaned. Bad time for this kind of gag. He half-sat hunched on his knees for several moments, struggling to decide.

Maybe it was a better idea to head back and go the other direction.

He tried to mash his form so that he could turn around. It was, after all, not so good to travel blindly in an unfamiliar place. But Rodimus simply did not have enough room to turn. It was ether move forward and see where he was going, or crawl backwards to the point of entry.

Or he could use the space between the two adjacent tubes to turn around. Three choices were better than two. Rodimus started right, then turned half way and squeezed around. There! Now he had line-of-sight. But for some reason, the power conduits looked funny, as though they were turned off in some places, mislinked in others. And in dead space floated several other lights; five, to be exact. What was he looking at? Roddi got the surges. He was suddenly aware of one long mechanical leg touching the metal panels about a yard or two ahead of a large body. An antennae flickered out, bouncing silver, reflecting the conduits' soft blue glow.

If it were an insecticon, it was like nothing Roddi had seen. And he hated bugs.

The creepy thing skittered closer on six legs, sniffing blindly. Its head resembled a long prism-like structure with a triangular face. The eyes studded its forehead dead center and its mouth narrowed down to a beak, jagged and serrated for puncturing and sawing.

Optical contact. The nasty thing screeched at Rodimus and from the sides of its black head a pair of sharp pincers sprang. They snapped, igniting a short electric spark.

One bound and the beast landed mere feet from him. Rodimus crawled as quickly as he could, but the bug had the advantage; it was on its feet. And to prove it meant business, it zapped his foot twice with its pincers. Rodimus shook with a sharp jolt of electricity, yelping once. He crawled faster but knew he was no match for this thing. Chances were, it was programmed to play with its prey before ending the pursuit in death.

Rodimus either had to find a way to block the thing from him, or leave the jeffries tube entirely. The tube descended for several yards before rising again. It turned left then led him straight for a while. Buggy behind him stalked after on its six prickly legs.

Again the tube split into two more tubes; straight and left. Hurry up and decide, he told himself.

How about down, instead? Rodimus scampered forward, crawling as fast as he could. Apparently the bug could not see him well. It stopped and sniffed several times before proceeding. That was good because he needed time to cut through the metal. He started from the left and slowly cut to the right, listening as hard as he could. If the bug attacked before he was done, Rodimus would have to figure a way to defend himself while cutting out an escape route. Naturally he could keep crawling around until he and Mister Bug found a way out, but chances were, it'd be in a room filled with Quintessons and/or their sharkticon pets.

Half way done!

Out the corner of his optics, Rodimus thought he saw the wall move. Keeping his weapon very still for a moment, he examined the wall more closely and to his surprise, his optics weren't lying. The walls' molecules were reorganizing themselves. He touched the wall and the surface rippled like water. He gasped, shocked. What was happening to the station?

The bug's feet stamped and it hissed at him.

"Damn!" he growled. Rodimus was too close to finishing to fail like this. He could not turn around, so he reached behind his head and fired blindly at the bug. It screeched loudly, its body flaying and scraping against the metal and carelessly snapped a few wires and broke exposed circuitry, also breaking a conjunction slip. Rodimus cussed again and raised the power on his rifle. Most of the metal was cut, anyway. He used the pulse and blew the rest of the new door away, carefully shielding his face from flying debris. From subspace, he produced the tri-rifle and quickly set it to overload.

He slid the tri-rifle under him toward the beast and jumped heedlessly. He fell at least four floors.

None too soon.

The gun exploded and gasses, debris and plasma fire chased Rodimus all the way down. He landed hard on his back. It took him three point two seconds before coming to, just as the insecticon spiraled after, out of control and shrieking mad. Rodimus leapt to and ran as fast as he could, hoping the beast would be knocked senseless long enough for him to find an escape route. He took a left turn, only to find himself cornered by a standard security grid gate.

With an agitated growl, Rodimus blew the grid, fully aware he set off a series of security station-wide alarms. He tripped through the damaged grid gate, falling half a floor and landed hard on his knees. The beast screeched as it struggled to squeeze its way through the entryway. Sparks flew as it rubbed its metallic body against the metal door frames. Rodimus swung around and fired at the beast's optic sensors, enraging it more than ever. At least it was distracted enough to allow him just a little more time.

He landed in what looked like a foyer, richly carpeted and complete with windows facing outer space. One set of doors stood to his right, the other straight ahead. He scanned one set, finding the area behind them cold. The other set seemed more obvious as far as an exit was concerned. Rodimus tried that route and was rewarded with an adjoining corridor.

He transformed and sped away. He did not see or hear the bug free itself from the grid. It darted on its spindly legs, skittering with miraculous speed.

But the metallic bug could not overrun Rodimus in auto mode. It shot out a stream of white goo and caught the fleeing Autobot at the backside. Rodimus shifted into overdrive until he realized he was caught.

He transformed and rolled on his back, firing at the beast. No go. The six-legged freak dragged him closer, impatiently tapping its pincers. Sparks snapped as though in anticipation of a fresh kill.

Rodimus searched the corridor, desperate for something, anything to give him an advantage. But the smooth, blank walls offered nothing. He fired at the webbing holding his feet steadfast. The webbing started to disintegrate as the bug dragged him closer and closer. Now he was but a couple of precious yards from its pincers and that was when the last of the sticky webbing fell under his lasers. Rodimus scampered to and ran as fast as possible. But at the sound of a squeal, he knew the thing was nearly on top of him.

The next minute its weight came down on his shoulder struts. Roddi lost his balance and crashed face down. He half-turned and fired at its optics again before the beast's pincers could get around his waist. It screeched so that it nearly overloaded Roddi's audio sensors. The bug shook its head and sank its serrated jaws into his hip.

Rodimus screamed, wreathing in pain as acid slowly ate into his circuitry. He fired his arm blasters under the bug's chin, hoping the neckline was just as vulnerable as its optic sensors.

It shrieked again, released him and finally retreated.

Rodimus remained on the floor a few moments while automatic repair systems closed off damaged areas and rerouted power. He pulled himself against the wall, laying half on the floor. Pain flowed up his side and down his leg. Most likely the acid was also poisonous and Roddi wondered how much time he had. Apparently it was not too lethal; he would have been dead already.

He gave himself another moment to rest, knowing he was chancing it. A wounded animal, mechanical or organic, was more dangerous and chances were, the bug would come back for him again. His optics drifted close to shut down. A bit more rest would be nice. He almost dimmed them entirely when he found an airlock just a little ways to his right. Something like that was meant for docking ships. But it could also be used to exterminate really big roaches. But how was he supposed to get that thing in there and kick it off the station without going out with it?

Never mind, here it comes.

Rodimus limped to the airlock and activated it. The seal opened first, slowly. Then the first door. All he had to do was bait it enough to get it in. He stood in the doorway, waiting for it to attack.

His vision blurred.

Great. That's all he needed. And there was no antidote. His systems demanded a temporary shut down.

The insecticon came for him and Rodimus waited until it was nearly on top. He leapt for the door frame, his fingers latching securely to the ledge. He kicked it in the face so that it landed against the far side of the wall. It rebounded, determined to have itself a 'Roddi ala shish kabob'. Rodimus swung through the air, landing a bit clumsily behind it and with his remaining strength, shoved the oversized gnat into the airlock, closed the door and hit 'eject'.

With a 'swish', the station expectorated the bug into space. Rodimus slid down the wall in relief and involuntarily shut down.

---------------------------------------

"Is the soup the wrong flavor?"

"No." She dipped the spoon and let the excess run off. But she did not eat it.

There came an uneasy silence and Prime heard noises from the kitchen and from other tables in the cafeteria as people came and left or quietly conversed over their meals. He settled on the floor, legs crossed. Rusti just stared at the soup. Shock did strange things to people. "Did you want me to blow on it?" he offered.

A smile broke across her otherwise sad little face. Her smiles were precious things, bright little moments like a candle lighting a dark room. She lit the darkness in his own soul.

"Retain the data as specified by the Gantez report. Conclusions are not definite, but the preceding tests have proven that sufficient life force frequencies are capable of interacting with the electromagnetic fields. This leads to the possibility of using life force as a means of creating and maintaining a stabilized window. This in turn may be useful to our clients and allies."

"Agreed. While we cannot use the Eden stone itself, we can use its wielder as a conduit into its energies and direct them wherever we may choose. However, subjects Ganymede 34, Corvus 109, Gemini 40 and Canis 619 have failed several specific tests. Recommendations are to proceed according to schedule and investigate any possible miscalculations. The project requires we awaken the lifeless shells in order to reach the final phases of the plan."

More screams. Their voices reached the ceiling like flaming tongues of pain that flickered to life then died quickly. The victims of Quintesson cruelty pleaded and begged as their bodies were mutilated.

Optimus Prime watched as they hacked one alien female to pieces. But his own emotions were distant as though both reality and his dreams were naught but hallucinations induced by too much work and too little rest.

At the far end of the room, stood four robotic figures. These 'beasts' had no internals save for those devices required for movement. Their torsos contained no components. Their heads were empty save for a few devices Prime did not recognize.

The Quintessons constantly argued over the 'shells'. Their droning voices muttered in constant debate, crossing logic with logic and scientific data against their own theories and calculations.

For a while, they seemed to have forgotten the rest of the projects. Many of their test subjects died during the squabbling. Optimus thought it kind that death finally rescued some victims from the grip of their tormentors.

---------

The dragonfly shook its head at him and rolled its eyes. "It's all elementary. I don't understand why you find it so difficult. **Think** about it!"

Prime tried to consider it again. All those people died. Why did they die? Primus, why . . .

And maybe that was the answer. Primus never answered his prayers. Optimus prayed everyday for guidance and strength. But he was lost, abandoned in a desert of worthlessness.

"Honestly!" the dragonfly snorted, "do I have to explain it **again**?" The insect sighed and crossed its front legs while its broad iridescent winds vibrated in the soft summer breeze. "This is how it works; it's all about connections. I am connected to things, you are connected to things."

"Like the space station?"

"Well, I suppose, but not quite the same thing. Oh dear, you really are dense, aren't you? They can't corrupt the Matrix; it's a living thing, like you."

"But I can be reprogrammed into another person."

"No you can't."

"Yes I can. It's been done before."

"Trapped in dreams. Trapped in dreams. Do you plan to die like this?"

"Like how?"

"Trapped in dreams."

Wake up! His inner self demanded Optimus to activate his optics. He hoped to find himself in his quarters or the office, maybe resting across his desk, digipads scattered in every direction along the floor and around him. He hoped somehow to find a Babybird nestled in her corner, asleep on the bean bag, snug and content.

Everything changes and sometimes it changes more than he'd like to see. Even the children he once adopted long, long ago, grew too fast. His band of warriors changed as he lost and gained soldiers. Battles came and went, lost and won. Earth was another chapter in a life filled with victories and defeats. There was a time it might have been the last chapter.

But why had death not taken him permanently in 2005? Why did it not take him last fall? He and Rodimus had injured one another so badly, it made no sense that they both survived the fight.

Why was he still alive?

A streak of pale blue light zig-zagged along the wall. It was the fourth or fifth time Optimus noticed it since his arrival. He also noticed how the molecules on the floor and the walls seemed to jump around. Of course, it could all be a hallucination. The Quintessons were doing a good deal of injury to him and most likely it was damaging his sensors.

A pair of dark eyes opened in the middle of the metal wall just above the robotic shells. The eyes closed and part of the wall itself stretched out and fingers protruded from there, reaching for a single-faced Quintesson who worked on, unaware of the wall's creepy activity.

Prime tried to rest his optical sensors several times. He succeeded once while the Quintessons reassessed their arguments regarding the robotic shells. All remained normal and for a while, things fell to a lull as several Quintessons ceased activities while they rested. Their eyes remained opened, ever watchful of their surroundings but mostly unaware.

Fifteen to twenty minutes passed before the Quintesson scientists returned to their activities and turned their attention to Human subjects. They had acquired a small collection of both men and women. They dissected one of each, passing the remains through every test conceivable. They questioned the other prisoners, some of whom where less than cooperative. Then came more tests such as electromagnetic, electro-chemical and sensory. They ran brain wave pattern scans and radiation tests which resulted in the death of their subjects at every attempt. The final victim, a woman, cried until she died.

Optimus blamed himself for their agony. It was his fault this was happening. He was the one who invited the Quintessons to Earth for a truce-talk. He was the one who crashed the ship on Earth millions of years ago. Now everyone, Human and Autobot alike, paid for his idiocy.

The Quints brought in a new subject.

Cody Greydon.

Optimus Prime actually tried to break free to rescue Cody. But the Quintessons had him securely bolted in place. And he did not have his hands. He could not move, could not speak. He dimmed his weary optics in sorrow as the young man whimpered in pain. The freaks cut into him. They ran different tests on Cody than their other Human victims. Optimus caught words like 'perfection' and 'accurate DNA' when the Quints referred to Cody.

Prime's spark ached for Cody and he took in some measure of comfort when the Quints finally returned the boy to his cell.

Then they brought Rusti out.

Optimus wanted to scream and again struggled against his prison. All he could do was watch. They ran tests, inserted needles and scanned her until her hair and clothes were drenched in blood.

One Quintesson, monitoring a computer at a different table, shouted excitedly. The other Quints crowded about their colleague and the computer.

"Impossible!" one shouted. "How can this creature exist with readings such as this? Who is this female?"

"She is one that Nafateem ra dahl brought in with DNA subject Number Rak 2319. Nafateem did not wish to leave witnesses and she was brought along."

Cleprachaun came to the forefront of the group. "She is indeed. She is also Resonna Witwicky, granddaughter of Spike Witwicky. The family are closely associated with the Autobots. It might explain the associated anomalies. The Witwicky clan have been heavily influenced by the Autobots. It should be no wonder their readings are different from other Humans."

"That fails to explain her readings!" the first declared. "No Gamma wave life force? What of this reading here? It is clearly evident she is responding to us on a psychic level."

"Indeed she is, Ukam'nuthal." the Quint at the computer agreed, "this indicates a ninety-four point sixteen percent possibility she has responded to several psychic frequencies used to attack the Autobots over the last few weeks. Fortunately, her abilities are latent and therefore, she cannot direct them toward us. However, it may prove that Human physiology has changed over the decades."

"Agreed," Ukam'nuthal corresponded. "Their entire structure has shifted. Possibly due to the influence of the magnetic/electromagnetic energies produced by the Transformers. The soft radiation from Cybertonium might have an accumulative and accountable effect worthy of possible future studies."

Optimus tried to Reach for Rusti and assure her she was not alone. But the girl was unresponsive. Optimus grieved and regrettably admitted it would be better the both of them died.

The Quintessons continued their hypothesizing for two and a half hours before deciding to put Rusti back in her cell. At least they'd leave her alone for a while longer but they brought out several other Humans and subjected them to an array of cruel tests.

---------

The sound of cracking bones roused him from involuntary shut down. He activated his optics, wishing he had not. The Quintessons brought Cody Greydon back from his cell.

The boy was dead. Every molecule of Cody's body was extracted and processed until all that remained was the skeleton. But that too was crushed, mixed with fluids and carried into another room.

Optimus was so sick with grief, he hurt. How could he ever tell Rusti? He dimmed his optics, wishing with all his might he did not see what just took place. He had friends and allies who died on and off the battlefield. He saw friends die from torture. But most of them died for a cause. Most of them died fighting one way or another. Optimus also had friends that died during peacetime, from 'natural causes'. But it always hurt more to watch the innocent die at the hands of malevolence. Cody was of no threat to those sli'kikik. He had no special powers, used no great weapons and certainly had no secrets worth kidnapping and killing for. But the death of the innocent was one of evil's greatest trademarks.

The Quintessons continued their work. The death of one or many received the same unsympathetic treatment. Prime ceased guessing what they were trying to do. Cody's death delivered such an emotional shock that the Autobot lost mental and emotional energy. His body seemed more foreign to him than before as though his spark were alienated from it.

The universe fell silent as though in tribute to Cody's life. Then Prime realized his audio sensors were out. He debated as to whether or not it was worth the energy to reroute power to remedy the situation.

As he debated, he noticed a black and green dragon stretched across the closest table. That could not possibly be real. Prime struggled to reroute command codes to repair the problem. But no matter what combination he used, the mythical beast remained lounged on the table as if it owned the thing.

The real problem was that the dragon stared back. Its right forepaw supported its chin while black eyes glued themselves to the Autobot. A pair of large wings lay folded comfortably against the beast's sides and spikes lining the rim of its back caught the light above like the glinting blade of a knife. The dragon's long tail snaked in and out of sight.

Then it smiled at him. "YOU'RE NOT HALLUCINATING YOU KNOW. I REALLY AM HERE. THE WALKING CESSPOOLS CAN'T SEE OR HEAR ME. THAT'S PART OF THE JOKE."

Prime dimmed his optics in puzzlement. The creature talked without moving its mouth. And it was not talking out loud. And if it was indeed real, what was it doing on the station?

"AH. WELL, LET'S JUST SAY THAT **SOMEONE** HAS A WONDERFUL SENSE OF HUMOR. THE STATUES YOU SEE AGAINST THE FAR WALL WERE SUPPOSED TO COME TO LIFE. BUT UM, NOT EVERYTHING THE QUINTESSONS DO GOES THE WAY THEY INTEND." the dragon winked. "THEY'RE IN FOR A RATHER UNPLEASANT SURPRISE. BUT THAT IS NOT WHY I DECIDED TO SPEAK WITH YOU."

Optimus heard Rusti call for Cody. He would never be there for her again. She began to cry and Optimus desperately wanted to comfort her. He darkened his optics, defeated.

"SHE CRIES FOR YOU."

The dragon looked crossly at a Quint as the unsuspecting five-faced scientist approached the table. The scientist carefully balanced three trays loaded with flasks and beakers filled with fluids and tiny creatures therein. The dragon smiled, displaying double rows of sharp teeth and a set of longer fangs. He snapped his long tail in front of the Quint, tripping the scientist. The trays flew out of the Quint's grip and all the flasks shattered. Little fish and worm-like things slapped the metal floor, struggling for air and life.

It was Ukam'nuthal who admonished his comrade with several choice words and a death-threat at the next 'inopportune accident'.

The dragon sniggered quietly then cleared its throat. "WELL, CHEAP THRILLS COME INEXPENSIVELY." He watched the Quintessons as they and their assistants raced to save their experiments and cleaned the mess. "COME TO THINK OF IT, MY FRIEND," the dragon added, "I HAVE NOT INTRODUCE MYSELF." Here, he stared at Optimus Prime again, "I AM ELLIPSIS."

Cold surges shot through Prime's body. It was not possible! The station?

Ellipsis flickered his tail. A sense of pride glowed from the dragon's face. "IN CASE YOU ARE WONDERING, I AM INDEED A PRODUCT OF THE MATRIX. I SUSPECTED YOU WERE READY TO ABANDON THE LIFE GIVEN YOU AND I CONSIDERED ASKING WHY. I SHOULD LIKE TO DISCOURAGE SUCH NOTIONS. IT IS, OF COURSE, YOUR DECISION. I AM, HOWEVER, DELIGHTED TO SEE YOU ARE AWARE OF ME AND SOMEWHAT MORE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS. YOU KEEP DRIFTING BETWEEN WORLDS. PERHAPS CONCERN FOR YOUR LITTLE FRIEND HAS BROUGHT YOU BACK TO THE PRESENT."

Prime struggled to remain focused. He had lost so much power that his mind drifted between reality and dreams. Ellipsis was real; that much was clear. But how were life energies, directed from the Matrix to the body shells, diverted to the space station instead? Perhaps the Quintessons miscalculated. It was not the first time they made a mistake. But Optimus wondered why they had not yet discovered their error.

And how was it that the station was able to communicate to him? Or was he merely imagining that, too? Was it that he was dying and able to see the space station's personality?

Possibly. And if that were also true, then Prime surmised he did not really need words to communicate to Ellipsis.

"I'VE BEEN WATCHING," Ellipsis's eyes glowed round their edges. "THE QUINTS CERTAINLY MAKE A FUSS OVER YOU, DO THEY NOT? WHAT DID THEY CALL YOU EARLIER? I MEAN, YOUR NAME, NOT THE SO-CALLED 'DESIGNATION."

"Optimus Prime."

The dragon nodded. "AH, YES. OPTIMUSSS . . . PRIME. SOUNDS IMPORTANT." Ellipsis whipped its tail. "SO TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF, OPTIMUS PRIME. WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING?"

"I am a commander . . . a leader."

"MILITARY?" the dragon examined its claws.

"Yes. No." Prime wondered why the station chose to represent itself as a dragon.

"HMM. A YES-AND-NO ANSWER. I WOULD GUESS YOU COMMAND BOTH MILITARY AND CIVILIANS. THAT MAKES YOU A GENERAL, A PRESIDENT, A DIPLOMAT, A SOLDIER AND A NEGOTIATOR. INTERESTING POSITION."

Prime felt exposed and mentally shrank away. He was a failure and did not wish Ellipsis to press further. There came, to his relief, a bit of silence while the Quintessons retrieved several other creatures from their cages, distracting the dragon. But the Autobot leader's heart sank as he and Ellipsis heard the screams of those poor victims. Prime hoped those tortured creatures would die quickly.

Ellipsis' tail whipped the air and his dark eyes narrowed. "EVERYTHING IN ITS TIME. THE ONE THING I LOVE ABOUT THE UNIVERSE IS THAT JUSTICE COMES IN MANY FORMS. AND FOR THE QUINTESSONS, IT WILL BE NEITHER KIND OR PAINLESS." The dragon returned his attention to Prime. His tail flickered dangerously close to a computer monitor. "TELL ME, COMMANDER/PRESIDENT OPTIMUS PRIME, HAVE YOU ANY FRIENDS?"

The point blank question would not allow Prime to be evasive. "Yes." he answered simply.

"OH." Ellipsis sighed, unenthused. "I SUPPOSE SOMEONE IN YOUR POSITION HAS LOTS OF FRIENDS."

Optimus could not answer. The dragon's response sounded more accusatory than factual. Perhaps Ellipsis knew that 'friend' was not necessarily the right word; at least where most of the Autobots were concerned. Prime was their leader. It did not mean all of them were particularly **fond** of him.

A single-faced Quint carried another tray of flasks from an adjoining room. Ellipsis looked rather displeased but did nothing. His tail slapped the floor a few times.

Exhaustion settled over the Autobot leader. He longed for rest, but it eluded him. Pain burned through his back from the inside. He longed to shut everything out and shut down, even for a few moments. He dimmed his optics, and to his surprise, his audio sensors picked up sound again.

Prime felt Ellipsis staring at him and reactivated his optics. He knew he looked tired and composed himself, employing years of practice. He pushed all thoughts and feelings away, hiding behind a mask of emotionless placidity.

"IT'S VERY COLD THERE." Ellipsis quietly warned. "BUT NO ONE CAN HURT YOU THERE, CAN THEY, OPTIMUS PRIME? THEY CAN'T SEE YOUR PAIN OR SORROW. YOU CONCEAL YOURSELF TO PROTECT THEM AND AFTER DOING IT FOR SO MANY THOUSANDS OF YEARS, YOU DID IT TO HIDE FROM YOUR FRIENDS. AFTER THAT, YOU BECAME UNIDENTIFIABLE BECAUSE NOW PEOPLE REGARD YOU AS SOMEONE ABOVE STUPID LITTLE THINGS LIKE VULNERABILITY AND FRAILTY."

Guilty as charged. Prime could not answer. Talking about his personal life was a waste of time and it changed nothing.

"IT'S NOT ENTIRELY FAIR TO YOURSELF, YOU KNOW. YOU ENCOURAGE THEM TO LIVE-**REALLY** LIVE. YOU WIPE THEIR NOSES, GIVE THEM THEIR BOTTLES, SING THEM A LULLABY AND TUCK THEM IN AT NIGHT. WHAT'S IN IT FOR YOU? I'M SURE YOU'VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT. DO YOU HAVE AN ANSWER?"

Every word rang true and pure. But it meant nothing. He was without a personal destiny. However, in the grander scheme of things, it did not matter whether he failed as an individual. His people came first in all things, all matters, all perspectives.

Ellipsis traced the footsteps of another Quint assistant as the single-faced creature passed between them. "HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN OFFICE?"

"Most all my life." Optimus finally found it difficult to keep awake. He longed for the darkness and unconscious world of sleep. But it would be rude to fall asleep while talking to Ellipsis, although it was the dragon that did most of the talking.

Ellipsis nodded, impressed. "THAT'S A PRETTY GOOD RECORD."

"It changes nothing." Optimus softly answered.

What he meant was the Autobots deserved Rodimus.

The dragon remained quiet a moment. "HE LOVES YOU, YOU KNOW. I WOULD THINK HE NEEDS YOU, NOT YOUR MEMORY."

The alarms sounded and dimly, Optimus noted how the Quints and their minions scattered about like a crowd of onlookers caught in the middle of a Decepticon raid. Orders and suggestions ran from one Quint to the next, the guards frantically ran around. A loud clang echoed throughout the station. Something had attached itself to the outer hull.

"OPTIMUS PRIME?" Ellipsis called softly.

The Autobot leader gave what little attention he had left in his conscious thoughts.

"DON'T YOU THINK THAT SINCE YOU HAD DIED AND HAVE BEEN BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE, THERE MUST BE A SPECIAL REASON? YOU'RE HERE FOR A REASON."

He narrowed his tired optics, not believing what Ellipsis was saying.

"I CAN TELL YOU THE DAYS AHEAD WILL BE WORTH LIVING FOR. SOMETHING . . . WORDLESSLY AWESOME WILL HAPPEN. BUT YOU HAVE TO WANT TO LIVE, OR IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. YOUR PEOPLE NEED YOU. THAT YOUNG GIRL NEEDS YOU."

Muffled sounds of distant fighting filtered through Prime's audios. At first the Autobot leader thought the fighting was outside the room, filtered through the doors and metal walls.

Although static contaminated his optics, he managed to watch as Quintessons raced frantically to save their data and a few finished experiments. They spoke hurriedly to one another, skittering to and fro.

Was the station on fire? They spoke his name, but did not speak to him. That was when one Quintesson screamed in terror. Optimus struggled to recall the last time he heard a Quintesson actually scream. But nothing came to his deranged and over-heated mind.

Another Quintesson screamed and the static over Optimus' optics cleared enough to witness the walls of the station twist and bend outward. Hands with two and three fingers reached out and caught a scientist. The Quintesson could do nothing more than scream as the station swallowed him.

More screams, frantic and hysterical. Those who derived perverse pleasure from causing others to scream were now themselves shrieking.

Universal justice.

But Optimus thought no more of it as his mind fell to darkness.

---------------------------------------

Lethargy affected all of Rodimus' systems. He made several attempts to collect himself mentally and physically with the same useless results. The poison prevented him from walking for some time and he crawled, hand and foot, down the hall from where he ejected his attacker into space. But now he sat wearily next to the station turbo lift, staring at the opposite wall as it shifted and swirled. It seemed the station's physical integrity was destabilizing.

He counted the vibrations of his own laser core. The minutes drifted off, accumulating into a long two-hour period. He longed to just lay right where he sat. But sleep refused him such simple pleasure.

The Autobot leader propped up one knee and rested his arm across it. Somewhere on this station Optimus Prime and Rusti were trapped, perhaps tortured mercilessly by the Quintessons.

And he could do nothing but sit, watch the wall and count the minutes. Despair ate him inside. His listlessness added to his sense of worthlessness. The creature's poison finished the task, forcing him to just sit like a duck waiting to be shot.

Somewhere, somehow, Rodimus knew he had to scrape enough strength to force himself forward again.

It was all the same damnedable battle; just to keep going forward to the next day, to keep focused through another meeting, another stack of reports; through the next hour! Softly he thudded his head against the wall. He felt about as useful as a child trying to pick up and use a Fusion Cannon.

Rodimus failed to keep their people safe. He failed to save Optimus Prime. He failed to protect Rusti. What a dolt! He'd make a better Scutzoid than an Autobot.

Well, come to think of it, he'd even make a lousy Scutzoid.

And here he lingered, knowing what he had to do.

What a failure! As a leader, as a warrior . . . He searched the ceiling. "I can't do this." he whined to himself. "I just can't." He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "What am I going to do?"

The ceiling's cold white lights glared at him. It gave him neither answers nor comfort. They reminded him of the cold pale lights in a distant corner of the Matrix where his death waited him. Its infection still grew, little by little. The effects might have been 'screened' by the blocking chip, but it did not ease his own fears. And Rodimus worried about the time. How much time did the chip give him and Optimus?

Where in all creation did the Virus come from? It irked him how easily the goddamn Quintessons admitted themselves as the perpetrators. How did they do it? The Matrix had been infected long before Optimus Prime set up the negotiation conferences.

The Autobot drew his knees together. Talking with Optimus as he did that night last week cleared a great deal of things between them. Now he knew where Optimus stood, why he acted the way he so often did. But in the last thirty years, Optimus had downright isolated himself.

The virus left them both scared. How would they ever survive? As if someone else in his head spoke, the answer came to him: Move. Don't sit. Don't think. Get up and move. Move anywhere. Just get up.

Obediently, Rodimus forced himself up the wall.

Nope.

He crouched down again and wrapped his arms about himself. He buried his head in his arms. What was he doing all this for? He had no weapons, no tactics. He had no idea where he was on the station. He had no hope of rescuing Optimus and Rusti, even if he did find them. He was just one Autobot in a Quintesson-infested space station.

He lifted his head. Rusti. Why, why, why did they take her too? What did she do to arouse their curiosity? That little girl whom he once sang (yes, **sang**) to sleep, and bathed as a baby, had a special place in his soul. Rodimus remembered how he once took care of her father when he was little. Something had happened to Daniel, however. He used to be so happy. But after he met Netty in high school, the enthusiastic little boy had changed. He grew bitter about his condition as a headmaster. This bitterness spread to his son, Brian, who later became a criminal.

Now all this . . . He and Optimus both had hoped to protect her from their world, their war. She was precious to him. He forced himself up. If nothing else, he had to find her.

Rodimus took the turbo lift, unable to read the symbols, guessing the numbers. But Rodimus quickly found what he wanted and what the turbolift did were two different things. Not only did the lift drop sharply, it also shot forward then stopped abruptly.

The Autobot hesitated before leaving, hoping the damn thing didn't try to send him flying into outer space. The doors opened themselves and he peered into a dimly lit corridor. It could be the Quints had cut power in most areas of the station in order to do their work under maximum efficiency.

The darkness reflected the heaviness of Prime's own soul and with hardened resolve, Roddi pressed forward.

The dark hall, interrupted only by red emergency lights, stretched eternally before ending flat.

Left or right. Rodimus couldn't guess. Left or right. He had no idea where he was or which road to take. He could take one route and end up a floor below the Quintessons, or the other route and end up on the opposite side of the station.

He slumped silently against a nearby wall. This was ludicrous, but at least he was moving, and not just sitting complacently.

_Rusti,_ he thought, _Rus, just give me a signal, something to work with!_

Silence.

The silence made him cold inside. For the last twelve years he had always gotten an answer in the form of a touch. The touch came light, like a little girl's giggle. Sometimes it was soft, other times, like a smart remark. It was always warm, no matter how it came. It always gave him a sense of reassurance knowing someone was always there; a part of his soul.

Now there was nothing.

A horrible sense of dread descended over Rodimus. What if something bad had happened to her? It could be that she's simply unconscious. But that wouldn't give him the same feeling. This was a deliberate repression.

And it did not help him make his mind. One way or the other. Left or right.

He thought about flipping a coin, if he had one and if he could see it in the dark.

Roddi shook his head and decided to take a right.

It appeared to be the right decision. The hallway ended in a huge room lit with an eerie blue light. Here, an unspeakable stench wafted through the air. It was almost like nothing Rodimus ever smelled before; a sickening sweet scent very much like that of rotted roadkill mixed with acetone and denatured alcohol. The Autobot leader set his fists on his hip plates and scowled.

"I need some light!" he grumbled to no one. It flashed right in his optics and the shock forced him to flinch, shutting his optics and hiding his face. He took two seconds to adjust and when he did, the sight nearly overloaded him.

Bodies. Humans. Taakarian. Pleasians. Korvers. Garbarian. Morgoff. Cratians. Finx, And half a dozen other species Rodimus knew nothing about. All lay on tables or hung clamped to plates against the walls or dangled from the ceiling. Metallic implants clamped their faces or other body parts. Their naked carcasses reflected the light in a cold grey or pallor that left Rodimus with the surges. He shuddered and tried to get his poise. He staggered back, the stench burning his ol factory. This was a horrible atrocity. What were the bastards up to, anyway? And was there a connection with the station? What was this all about? Did it have something to do with the fact that all the bodies were those of sentient creatures?

Sentience. It dawned on Roddi that's possibly why the Quints abducted Optimus Prime. They themselves could not possibly create sentient life. The Quintessons did not even have the capacity to reproduce themselves. They were a derelict species, a random factor in a universe filled with living creatures. They were a species that should have gone extinct millions of years ago.

They were experimenting with sentient life. Experiments on sentient life was against the law in nearly every culture the Autobots ever encountered. It was a universal law. Even the Fabin agreed it was law, although they themselves broke it often enough.

Sickened by the sight, Rodimus turned away, repressing the urge to give the room a final glance.

He made his way steadily down the hall, the shock left him colder than he felt before the discovery.

The room proved one thing: the Quints couldn't possibly be interested in Rusti. If they were doing experiments on creatures, fitting them with mechanical implants, it may be that Rusti's abduction was accidental.

Then how did Cody fit into the picture? What did it all mean?

Thunder muttered through the halls and the station softly rocked. Rodimus nearly lost his balance. The corridor lights flickered.

WARNING. SHIELD DISRUPTION. The station rang with a soft masculine voice. REPEAT. SHIELD DISRUPTION.

Ultra Magnus? Did the Autobots find him? Possibly, if Perceptor was able to attain a fix on the tractor beam trail, tracking it to the Quintesson ship, then tracking the warp trail from Earth. Of course, Cleprachaun mentioned where they were. But how could the Autobots get here?

The station rocked again, a little harder.

WARNING. SHIELDS AT SIXTY-THREE PERCENT.

"Uhh, Computer?" Rodimus guessed the station operated much like the Autobot fortress-cities, with a responsive central computer.

OPERATIONAL.

"Uhh, locate . . . Optimus Prime." It was a serious gamble. The computer was probably clueless.

CANNOT CONFIRM LOCATION OF SAID SUBJECT.

Rodimus frowned. It was a good idea. But another one came up: "Uhh, Computer, locate any living Humans on board."

ONE HUMAN LIFE. SCIENCE DIVISION. LEVEL FOUR.

Bingo. "How do I get to level four?"

The station rocked again, violently and Roddi slammed into the wall on his right. The station tilted back so that the Autobot nearly lay on the wall.

Slowly, the station corrected itself, the hallway lights dimmed out for a moment then came back online.

A soft low groan reverberated throughout the station, sending surges over Rodimus' exostructure. The floor beneath him felt strange, as though he were standing in a puddle of water. Reluctantly, he crouched and touched it. No, it wasn't water or blood, but the floor's molecules were rearranging themselves right under his feet, creating a strange rippling sensation.

Rodimus thought it best to move a bit more quickly. He briskly advanced, finding windows looking out a huge glass ring used to recirculate the station's air. Rodimus took a left turn and found a jeffries tube. He would have to do this as quickly and quietly as possible so as to get there before the Quints decide to terminate their experiments.

---------------------------------------

They removed her from her little prison again and laid her languid, naked body on a cold steel tray. Rusti felt like a wet rag doll. She offered no resistance to their prodding tools. The Quints pressed freezing instruments against her body and pinched needles into her neck. They took both skin and blood samples and asked her questions in a language she could not understand. That was, until they tried communicating in Autobot.

"What is your name?"

"Who are your creators?"

"What is your age?"

"How can you understand Autobot?"

"What is your relationship with the Autobots?"

"What knowledge have you of the Quintesson Continuum?"

"What kind of defenses does Earth have?"

"Are you telling us the truth?"

"SPEAK, Human, we have not much patience."

Rusti managed to answer the first three questions without problems but the fourth one, she found herself reluctant to explain. "I don't know. My grandfather was able to read Autobot. I just . . . I just know how to speak it."

"Inconceivable."

"Fifty-two point nine percent probability of truth. Considering the readings we acquired earlier, there is a definite connection. It may be the female is unwilling to tell us everything."

Rusti rolled her eyes in annoyance.

They did not believe her regarding knowledge of their species. "I **told** you," she wearily repeated, "I just hear news and stories. Nobody tells me anything. I don't know anything about your weapons or your . . . whatever it is you say."

"You can pick up and read our psychic energies, Human. We require an explanation."

Rusti's head throbbed and every time she tried to lie down, they forced her back up with a freezing instrument. "You're bastards, okay. I can smell a bastard a mile away."

The Quint closest to her switched to his Face of Hate. "If truth were a more likely probability in the nature of the female subject, logic would dictate she neither knows nor understands her own latent abilities. Once again ruling in favor of her negligible threat."

"What of Earth's defenses, Human?"

"What about them?"

"Tell us of the strategic bases and weaponry. We need to know-"

"Hey!" her mousy voice barely raised an octave, but her annoyance was enough to interrupt the Quint's question, "I'm a high school student. That means I don't know anything about Earth defenses. I can tell you about the latest movie I saw, what's the hottest song on the radio, I might even be able to pass a math exam . . . well, maybe not now. But military strategy? Go ask Ultra Magnus, you might even find his number in the phone book." Rusti lowered her eyes and swept a bit of blood-drenched hair behind her ear. This was all a bad dream.

It **needed** to be a bad dream because not far from her, hung Optimus, attached to the station itself by means of cords, bars and a machine that cupped his head and hands in a vice-like grip.

Prime's optics were dark to the world. Her heart pained so that Rusti's stomach lurched and she had to look away. Tears stung her nose and hurt her scratched and cold face as they fell. The Quintessons around her muttered to one another in their own creepy language. She no longer cared and laid face down, curled on the cold surface.

It needed to be a bad dream.

The Quints left her to attend other experiments and tasks. She stared into nothing, her mind and body now numb with shock.

She barely heard other creatures protesting the cruel handling of their tormentors. Rusti was thankful it was not her the Quints harassed. But it was hard to listen to the screams and cries. Tears fell, but she could not openly cry. The Quintessons were certainly demons, if not monsters. They had no pity, no remorse and the girl doubted there was anyone the Quintessons answered to.

As she lay there, the side she lay on began to complain of bruising and Rusti shifted, laying on her right side, but remained cautious of her injured hand. She was terribly uncomfortable and could not get warm. It also occurred to her she had not eaten in quite a while and an empty stomach only added to her listlessness.

Her eyes stared at the far wall where four robotic statues stood straight and lifeless. Their thorax was naught but an empty cavity. They stared into nothing with dark optics and it was difficult to tell if they were Autobot or Decepticon. Maybe they were neither. They bore no insignia and it could be they were just body shells with no sparks. Even their transforms, if they had any, did not look familiar.

The wall behind them seemed to buzz about with activity. Little dots swirled and zig-zagged like tiny bugs skittering about on the metal surface. Then part of the wall bulged.

Fascinated by this effect, Rusti forgot her discomfort and kept staring. Was she delirious or was something else going on?

A whisper came from the wall and Rusti thought for sure she was either just hearing things, or maybe it was another of the Quint's prisoners that spoke. She remained still, eyes focused on the wall, reading shadow and surface, watching it bulge and sink as if it were . . . coming to life, maybe?

Ukam'nuthal's voice echoed through the room, "This life form is impractical! No psychic energy readings, not so much as an ounce of recall intuition! The possibility of connection to the Matrix or to Optimus Prime is negative. I strongly suggest abandoning this phase of the project and returning to the remaining Human female."

"I concur," another Quintesson scientist agreed. "Daktu, dispose of this waste and prepare the table for the next phase."

There was another whisper and Rusti thought for sure it was directed at her. She lifted her head, as a dark shape grew and shrank on the wall's moving surface. She squinted her weary eyes, trying to make sense of the fuzzy panels. "I'm sorry," she whispered back, "you'll have to say it again."

BY ACT OF WAR, THE MUSIC MUST SPEAK.

Flashes of an old memory shot through Rusti's weary mind. They were not memories from the dark valley in her soul, but from long ago, when she was young and a god declared war on Central City and Fortress Maximus. She remembered the carnage at the school and the call of a distant but powerful voice.

And she remembered the hell this ancient entity put several men through. The type of hell, she dared believe, from which they never recovered.

But the Music? Speaking here? No, the Quints would neither comprehend nor pay attention to such a thing. They were gods to her; huge in form and highly advanced in thought. They would regard the Music as little more than the chirping of an insect.

Besides, the Music should be more concerned for Optimus Prime.

"IMPERATIVE. PROTOCOL DEMANDS THE FORETELLING OF WAR."

This was true. Rusti realized the Music needed to call their attention, to warn them what was about to happen. Even the Quintessons had a right to know why they were going to be punished.

Warmth returned to her body and Rusti managed to sit on her knees. She stared at her captors, still muttering among themselves, debating about new approaches to the next phase of their project.

Everything seemed so clear, now. Rusti recognized what they were doing: the Quintessons were trying to create and control life force frequencies in order to create and control a stabilized worm hole. By mixing the properties of life force and a newly-built time window, they might have the ability to balance a phased-space bubble to contain the inconsistencies of time radicals.

Fools. They insisted on treating the universe as a playground; something to be used and exploited. But whether the Quintessons acknowledged it or not, there were certain universal laws even they had to answer to.

Rusti drew a cold breath and cleared her mind. This was hers, Cody's and Optimus' only hope for reprieve.

A scanner bleeped in warning and Deliberata attended the consol. He adjusted controls and recalculated the signal to make certain. "It appears long-range scanners have detected an Autobot ship," he reported.

"How is that POSSIBLE?" Cleprachaun clearly voiced anxiety. "Recheck the readings. It must be a false signal."

"Negative. Scanners show energy and matter signatures on all frequencies." Deliberata turned his Face of Death to Cleprachaun. "Did they attain a remote caller off your person?"

"Negative," Cleprachaun composed himself and used the flat, emotionless tones. "The Autobots did not have physical contact with my person."

"Not unless they found another remote-caller." Ukam'nuthal added. "Now it comes to my attention, Cleprachaun, your assistant may have abandoned his remote caller to the Autobots."

Cleprachaun switched to his face of Hate. "Yes. This is possible. The Autobot leader had attacked and torn Zeldrakan apart before exterminating him."

"Your unprofessional manhandling the situation will cost you your life." Deliberata snarled. "The Autobots have attained the knowledge of interstellar gating and will attack--"

He did not finish his sentence before the station rocked softly the first time.

"Warning shots," Deliberata assessed. "Return fire. Do not fail."

The station shuddered just slightly as laser cannons returned fire on the Autobot ship. It was answered with a more rigorous shot to the port.

"This is preposterous!" Ukam'nuthal snarled. "Daktu, Rongk, gather all recorded data and head for the escape ship. Methran, dispose of the remaining prisoners."

Daktu and Rongk reached for memory crystals when a bright light shot from the center of the room, causing them to freeze and cover their optics. Ukam'nuthal and Cleprachaun shouted in their own language while three other scientists tried to shout above them, ordering all personnel to abandon the station.

Delicious warmth flowed from the center of Rusti's chest through her arms and legs. She lifted her chin to the ceiling, unaware that her body, still kneeling on the silver tray, glowed with a radiance that outshone the fluorescent lighting in the lab. The arrogant Quintesson masters, however, refused to display any sensitivity while their assistants and servants ducked and shied from the light.

Deliberata struggled to see the numerous objects lying on the table before him. The light was such that everything glared its brilliance. He managed to make out the shape of a laser scalpel. All he needed was one clear shot.

For herself, Rusti heard nothing. She felt the wonderful warmth and heard the melodies of the Music. She loved the Music and embraced It.

At first the radiant light was all the Quintessons experienced. It seemed harmless enough, but Deliberata saw it more as a threat and an interference-and g'k if the Autobots didn't fire on the space station again. They would certainly pay for their insolence!

Then a voice, clear and effeminate emanated from the light. At first it spoke in a language unknown even to the Continuum. Then It repeated its declaration in the Quint's own muttering tones. Ukam'nuthal winced and slipped back several feet. The way his language was spoken by an unknown entity frightened him because for the first time, it sounded alien in his own mind-alien and evil.

I ADOPTED THE CHILDREN OF PRIMUS. HENCE FORWARD, NO HAND SHALL LAY ON THE CHOSEN. JUDGEMENT WILL BE SWIFT AND CERTAIN. VECTOR SIGMA IS NULL AND VOID. HIS VOICE WILL NEVER BE HEARD AGAIN. THE POLICIES ORIGINATING FROM CYBERTRON HAVE CHANGED. 

The floor beneath the Quintesson scientists moved. Molecules swirled and scampered excitedly until the floor itself twisted and bulged, forming a pair of hands. The metallic hands enveloped a shrieking Quintesson assistant, closing about its trans-organic body until the Quint's high-pitched voice was silenced.

The brilliant light faded and with it, Rusti passed out. Deliberata set the laser scalpel to maximum but the station shook again, tipping tables full of science and surgical equipment. The monitor next to Deliberata tipped off its perch, knocking the scalpel free of his grip. He swayed and bumped into Ukam'nuthal.

"Abandon the vessel!" Deliberata called to his cohorts. "Prepare Optimus Prime for transport! Evacuated all experiments! Set the station to self-destruct!"

It was the last thing he said. A metallic hand rose from the unstable floor and grasped his Face of Deceit. His Face of Hate screeched orders to his assistant but he received no help. Another hand, this time clawed, rose from the floor, grasping his tentacles and the two hands played tug o'war with the Quintesson scientist. He screamed and screamed until his body tore asunder.

Just as Elipsis promised.

The station rocked yet again, tilting so that anything not bolted to the floor, slid back, colliding into one another or against the wall. Clasps holding the silver tray securely to the table prevented Rusti from falling to the floor with the rest of the rubble.

One Quintesson after another struggled to free themselves from the clutches of the space station. They did not bother to help one another, fighting for the exit-which squished one assistant. In a matter of minutes, the Quintesson's screams came to an end and their blood was absorbed through the floor and walls. Ripples intensified along the station, inside and out. Elipsis' exterior paneling broke off like an animal shedding its outer skin.

Rodimus raced along empty corridors, watching windows disappear as the walls closed in on themselves He hoped and prayed he was not too late. He found the very room described by the ship's computer and tried to pry it open. Upon failing, he set his weapon to stun and shot the doors.

They opened, revealing a room filled with toppled cages, damaged computers, tipped tables and dead prisoners.

"Rusti!" he called, "Optimus!" He spotted Optimus and choked back a cry. Blood and body fluids had formed a large puddle on the floor below, eerily mirroring the Autobot's unconscious form in the light.

Rodimus ruthlessly shoved a table aside, making a path toward Prime.

Something clanged and banged from the other side of the door opposite the entrance Roddi came from. He paused, listening hard and thought he heard Magnus' voice, shouting commands. The high-pitched tones of slicing blades snapped and cracked from the same location. Either Grimlock or Springer was using his sword. For the moment, Rodimus did not feel his suspicions were that important. He kept bulldozing a path toward Optimus Prime. But when he succeeded, he realized he had no idea how to get his friend down. Optimus hung a good ten feet from the floor.

Another hand from the station shot down, taking Rodimus by surprise. He ducked, only to find it wasn't aiming for him, but a single-faced Quintesson guard that sneaked from behind. The guard squealed like an Earth pig until it disappeared into the ceiling.

The Autobot leader did not care what was happening to the Quintessons. He shoved another table aside and called Rusti's name. He tried to Reach for her, still sensing nothing.

The doors at the other end of the room grinded as two sets of hands pried them open. Magnus and Grimlock snarled and grunted until the entrance was clear. Grimlock swathed a path, slicing through tables and equipment, enjoying the task a little too much. Magnus and Springer followed.

"Rodimus!" Magnus called.

Roddi pointed to Optimus Prime. "Here, Magnus. Hurry, get Optimus Prime out of there! I've got to find Rusti and Cody!"

The station shuddered again and the doors through which Rodimus entered melted, forming one wall. Lines and power conduits snaked out between wall panels and into the floor or ceiling.

Rodimus kicked a table and computer monitor aside, finding dead things under them.

Concentrate! He told himself. This should be like playing hide-and-seek. He needed to clear his thoughts but watching Magnus and Grimlock free Optimus distracted him.

Magnus retracted the bar implants as carefully as he could. Electricity zapped him two and three times and the major-general swore, trying to keep his words clean. Springer braced Prime's legs as Grimlock readied to slice through the machine holding his arms.

"Ready?" Springer called out to his companions as Sideswipe and Hotspot joined them.

"One more," Magnus slid a last rod out of Prime's back then stepped off the table and kicked it aside. "Now, Grimlock."

Grimlock would have preferred to chomp the metal with his teeth, but Magnus made it very clear the operation had to be done very, very carefully. With two strokes of his energo-sword, the first part of the great machine fell to sparking, smoldering pieces. And in three more swipes, Optimus was free.

Rodimus flinched when Optimus' form collapsed into Magnus' arms. Magnus lowered Prime to the floor as Hotspot and Sideswipe activated an anti-grav flat.

A high-pitched, mournful sound like that of a whale's song resounded across the station, sending chills throughout Rodimus' body.

"Rodimus, we're running out of time!" Magnus shouted above the repeated song.

Rodimus turned and kept looking under debris and bodies of other Quintesson victims. The floor vibrated more intensely now as the station came to life, shedding the hand-made structure originally assembled by the Quints.

Then Rodimus spotted a little hand laying pinned beneath a keyboard. He lifted the component and examined her to make sure he would not injure her further when he picked her up.

She was so lifeless.

"Rus?" he squeaked. "Rusti?" Rusti? Come on, Lady-friend, give me a life sign! It's Roddi."

She was half naked, covered in blood as though bathed in it. Rodimus heart ached. He wanted to clean her up, dress her in warm clothes and make everything alright again.

Come on, Baby Bird, he prayed, give me a life sign. He tried to warm her body through his hands, ignoring Magnus' shouting. Time was running out, but Rodimus was not going to rush things. He had to be sure.

There! She managed to move the fingers of her right hand. It was good enough for Rodimus. He carefully gathered her up, holding her close. He searched for Cody, frowning at Magnus' anxious stream of concern and 'choice words'. They had to leave **now**.

Rodimus lingered just a moment longer, searching under tables and in cages where most of the experiments had been crushed or shot by their captors.

Nothing. Nothing at all. And they had no time left. Rodimus hated making choices like this. He raced for the shuttle, Springer just yards ahead of him. Hotspot closed the hatch as Springer joined Sideswipe at the controls and the shuttle took off.

The Autobots managed a good distance from the station before Magnus punched up a view of the station. The entity now calling itself Ellipsis, stretched until its rings and habitat areas opened and switched places and positions. Four flipper-like devices grew out the sides and a tough, scaly skin covered the creature now reborn. It gathered light from the sun, setting up a naturalized force field around its body.

Now it searched the heavens for Quintesson blood.

---------------------------------------

Optimus Prime woke to despair. He struggled to find even a flickering light of happiness in his own soul, but it could not be found.

The darkness of failure enveloped him with shame and he longed for nonexistence. There was a time when he believed good triumphed over evil; when he believed that faith, hope and love conquered all.

Back then, before 2005, it was easy to believe for what he fought.

But that was another life, another time. All he had now was the weary burden of despair. The war raged on. No matter what he did, the war blazed anew, like a fire refusing to be put out. With every idea, every hope, every turn of events, something always seemed to sabotage the very peace he desperately sought. Even the Cybertron's rejuvenation failed to stop the age-long war. He had lost people he loved, friends he worked with, a femme to whom he had bound his soul.

Even in death he was exploited and violated. They yanked him from the goodness and light back to the universe and its misery. It meant he faced a new foe, one without weapons or tactics; one without a face. And he returned to his post, facing the bleak reality that his people would soon die out.

Vector Sigma cared nothing about the death around it. It did not matter what Alpha-Trion said about the mega computer, going on as if Sigma were some kind of god. Sigma was as cold and indifferent as an Earth turtle toward its own hatchlings. Sigma perpetuated the war by creating Decepticons.

Primus did nothing to help, advise or comfort. Prayers remained unanswered.

Optimus recalled undergoing the lengthy ritual after he eradicated the Plaque. He sat for days waiting for some fragment of conversation with Primus. He hoped to attain a better sense of self, purpose and direction. But nothing came of his efforts. He left the temple empty.

So he waited. Perhaps the time wasn't right. He trusted Primus that the god of Cybertron knew what He was doing. But the silence remained. For thirty years after the Rebirth, the silence hung like a corpse impaled on a road sign.

The virus made matters worse. And prayers regarding that also went unanswered. Whatever strength Optimus Prime managed to scrape together did not come from the person he believed to be god.

What was the answer, then?

Optimus Prime emerged from darkness into a sacred hall. The lighting was distorted; dark in places where there should have been light; light where there should be dark. Prime felt terribly exposed.

This was another part of the Matrix, a place held in reserve. Its sanctity warned the Autobot leader he stood on forbidden ground.

Then why was he here? A mistake, perhaps. He searched for an exit, finding himself trapped. Glaring light poured into the hall through irregular-shaped windows, brighter than sunlight as though a star were just outside. The light neither comforted nor encouraged Prime.

A great throne stood vacant at the far side of the room. Was Primus going to appear? Was He willing to take time to speak? Hope sparked within Prime's heart. At last! Questions answered, a hope for the future!

But the long silence and years of inner turmoil caused Prime to privately question Primus' integrity. It was a blasphemy. But there were so many unforgivable circumstances: the return of the Quintessons, the Plaque, the indifference of Vector Sigma; Primacron. All of which were problems no sentient creature should have been expected to fight.

Perhaps it would have been better for the whole universe if the Autobots never existed. Certainly the Decepticons had Primus' blessing. They have always been strong in military and civilian life. They were not bound by laws and ideals. They lived by their own laws, their own natures. They did whatever they pleased, destroyed and took what they desired. The Autobots, however, seemed to receive the bad end of the deal. They were driven to the brink of extinction and ultimately kicked off their home world. When they were in power, all they got in return for forgiveness was deception, backstabbing and finally revolution, by the Decepticons time and time again. The Decepticons were never happy.

Perhaps it would be far more merciful if Optimus Prime were to wipe his people out of existence. He could do it. Prime always knew he had that power. It was something he never discussed even with Elita-1. He was not proud of that thought, but sometimes, he wondered if it would be a far better option than to watch his people suffer.

**YOU ARE MY SERVANTS. YOU WILL DO 'MY' PURPOSE.**

The thought boomed through him and Optimus held his audio receptors, although he heard nothing outwardly. The blasphemous thought finally awakened Primus to conversation. Optimus searched the room, finding nothing more than the misplaced light, the empty throne, the irregular shadows.

"Primus, my lord . . ." too many questions to ask in such a short time. Too many emotions crowded his mind. He felt insignificant. Who was he to come to his god?

However, Optimus Prime was the Chosen. He was the Bearer of the Matrix, the leader of his people. He should have some measure of privilege in speaking to the god/creator of Cybertron. "Primus," he addressed again, "I . . ."

He had no words for all he wanted to say. And Primus remained silent.

Optimus realized he made a mistake. He should not be here. He was a pawn . . . "My Lord, what will happen to the Autobots?" he asked, carefully choosing his words. "We suffered so much, attaining nothing. Cybertron is whole again, but we . . . have no future."

**THE EVIL IS OMNIPRESENT. IT WILL RETURN AND WHEN IT DOES, YOU WILL BE READY FOR IT. AGAIN AND AGAIN. **

If he could have, Optimus would have blinked in disbelief. "The Evil? Ready for It? You mean Unicron? But the Matrix destroyed him."

**YOU WILL BE READY. ALWAYS READY. **

Doubt touched Prime. Whatever faith he had left crumbled like a sand castle. "I don't understand. Ready for what? We've been enslaved by war for megania. We slaughter one another like starving wolvacons. Is there no end to it?"

**YOUR WAR IS INCONSEQUENTIAL IN LIGHT OF THE GREATER NEED. **

This was hard to take. "What if the Autobots all terminate? What if the Quintessons destroy us? Is that-is that part of your plan? To use us as gun fodder? Do we mean that little to you?"

**YOU WILL EXIST ACCORDING TO THE ORIGINAL PLAN. LIFE IS INCONSEQUENTIAL. **

Stunned, Optimus stood there, frozen. His existence, his people's existence was not more than the reality of a pawn in a game. A game! An experiment! A tool! A TOY!

Slowly the Autobot sank to his knees, dejected. He, his life, his people, their struggles, their hopes and dreams meant nothing more than a passing fancy to the one whom they longed to please the most. They meant nothing.

Nothing.

Pawns in a game of Galactic Craps.

He meant nothing. Just a creature who lived for a while, only to pass on and later forgotten like . . . a broken toy.

The thought overwhelmed him, shorting circuitry. Optimus fell closer to the ground, supported by his hands as he tried to keep himself off the floor.

Nothing.

A game piece.

Drops of fluid fell on the back of his hand. He smeared his fingers over his face and examined them.

Was he crying?

But only organic creatures wept. Was this what the Quintessons were upset about? Was this what Rodimus was wiping when he came back two weeks ago?

They were evolving again.

And it made no difference to Primus. Not the slavery, not the war, not the extinction.

Optimus lay on cold floor. The despair completely overwhelmed his body and he slipped further and further from the light. He no longer cared. His god no longer cared, and he had no more strength to fight to live.

THE PRICE FOR YOUR INDIFFERENCE WILL BE YOUR OWN DESTRUCTION. 

It was a completely different voice and strangely enough, effeminate.

**PLAGIARIST. **

YOUR SPINELESS NEGLIGENCE HAS BEEN WARNED. YOUR COURSE HAS FAILED TO CHANGE AND IN LIGHT OF THE CURRENT SITUATION, YOUR RIGHTS HAVE BEEN FORFEITED. YOU ARE AWARE OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES AND HAVE TAKEN NO MEASURES TO CORRECT THE PROBLEM. YOU HAVE CORRUPTED YOUR OWN POLICIES. 

**THE POLICIES ARE A PRIVATE MATTER. **

THE RIGHT TO CREATION COMES WITH RESPONSIBILITIES AND YOU HAVE REPEATEDLY NEGLECTED YOURS. FIRST THE QUINTESSONS, THEN VECTOR SIGMA, FINALLY, UNICRON AND THE RESULTING PLAQUE. 

Silence. Optimus listened to the two voices, one sounded detached, unconcerned. The other, adamant, direct, almost rude.

It mattered little now. He had fallen so far into darkness he knew he could not wake in time to hand the Matrix to Rodimus.

No, that's right. He wasn't on Earth. He was on the station.

He was just a game piece.

Nothing.

A broken toy.

He could not fight any more.

A shaft of light fell over him and warmth somehow returned to his body. It mended the great bleeding gash in his soul. The bleeding ceased. The terrible oppression abated and Optimus started to move when a pair of hands gently but firmly held him down. Graceful and symmetrical, like a human lady's hands, Optimus liked their softness. Prime remained on the ground and a hand glided kindly along his back. Systems long since damaged by the virus came back to life and much of the pain lifted.

YOU ARE NOT A TOY. WHAT ALL HAS PRECEDED CANNOT BE CHANGED. BUT IT WILL BE RECTIFIED. YOU ARE DEAR TO ME, OPTIMUS PRIME. LONG HAVE I WATCHED YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE. I HAVE CHOSEN TO MAKE PROVISION FOR THEM. I HAVE SEEN TO IT THAT YOU ARE CARED FOR. GO TO MECHLATEX, OPTIMUS PRIME. THERE, YOU CAN REJUVENATE THE MATRIX. 

Questions flooded Prime's mind. Who 'she' was or what 'she' represented, he had not even the slightest of ideas. Her soft voice and warm touch roused the Autobot's curiosity.

But what of the Quintessons and what were they trying to do and why did 'She' step in, and did 'she' know about Ellipsis gaining life . . .

SHHH. QUIET YOUR MIND. ALL ANSWERS WILL COME. QUIET YOUR SOUL. SHHH. 

His head cleared as his overheated body now lay face-up. A wet cool sponge traced his body and Prime activated his optics, finding himself in med bay, in Fort Max. Rodimus sat next to him, softly soaking him with a cooled lubricant. Rodimus looked as though he had not recharged in several days. Prime lifted his heavy right arm and laid it across his thorax.

"Rodimus . . ." his voice only whispered and his optics glowed faintly in greeting.

Roddi smiled thinly. "You've suffered from overheating for a day and a half. Trinket fussed over you until I insisted she got sleep." He moistened Prime's forehead with the lubricant, "I wanted to wait until you came around. You owe me a guarantee to pay up on our deal. You can't wiggle your way out of it this time."

Optimus felt better than he had in weeks. For the moment, despondency did not afflict him. But his mind was still fragmented, fuzzy with confusion and bad dreams. "Rodimus . . . don't recall making a deal-"

"Sure you do." Roddi winked. "You got off the station in one piece, you'd go on a three week vacation. If not, I'd get to hang your carcass in the central courtyard with a sign that says, MORON HANGS HERE. It's that simple."

Considering his present state of mind, Prime supposed he could have said anything. Though he suspected the 'deal' was a set up. He caught the glint of a smile on Roddi's face plates.

What a cheat.

At this point, he was too tired and too comfortable to argue. He adjusted his position and shut down.

---------------------------------------

There was no pain, but there was no life, either. The eternal darkness was neither of clouds nor starry or overcast nightfalls as such in the wintery Oregon skies. This was an oppressive dark that penetrated and swallowed everything. It eliminated air so there was no breath. It swallowed hope so that the soul resided in despair.

But look up. Was the sun not on the way? Were not the clouds and blessed rain from above?

Rusti lifted her chin, seeking some faintness of light and with it life and hope.

There.

Rusti drew breath and found discomfort. She shifted slightly to the left. Pain shot from her back to the pit of her stomach. Her legs ached and then her upper arms. She caught her breath and found that hurt her lungs. The slow beat of a headache started from the back of her head.

Rusti groaned and that caused her to cough, again creating a chain reaction of pain spasms in her body. She felt as though someone ran her over with a blacktop roller. Her eyes opened, welcoming the soft glow of candlelight and the lowest setting of a touch lamp next to her bed.

Wait. What's that? She batted her eyes. Yes! Yes! HER room! HER bed!

A bad dream, right?

No cage or energon bars. No piercing lights stabbing her eyes. No freak aliens murmuring in disquieting tones. She lay in her own bed, a huge stuffed dinosaur covered the foot end.

It was the worst dream she ever had in her life. Rusti lifted her left hand and found a fresh light wrapping around it.

She batted back tears as her heart sank. It was no dream.

Sadness assailed her and those tears she fought to keep off her cheeks fell anyway and they drenched her hair, spilling into cuts and scratches along her scalp. Their coldness stung and Rusti tried not to cry.

A huge dark blue hand neared her. A tiny tissue dangled pinched between finger and thumb. The girl wordlessly accepted the tissue, dabbing the cold wet tear tracks and gently blew her nose.

There sat a metal giant.

He rested against the wall, at the foot of her bed. He propped his knees, his arms across them. A flagon of energon hung suspended between his hands. Rusti marveled how his powerful block-style body portrayed such grace. He was beautiful.

Rusti's cheeks rose in a smile but the pain crushed the moment and she laid her good hand on her right cheek, discovering freshly-mended wounds.

"I know it hurts." Prime's soft, sad voice filtered through the air like quiet, soothing music. At least, it was music to her ears. Rusti started to choke up again and dabbed at new tears. She thought about saying something, but doubted her mousey little voice could carry so much as a squeak.

Prime said nothing more, tilting his head a little to the left. He sipped energon from the flagon then settled cross-legged, watching her with those piercing blue optics. It felt odd to be stared at by Optimus Prime. Unlike Rodimus, the Senior Prime held a god-like manner. He did not just look at people, he saw into them and through them.

His silence always demanded attention. He certainly had Rusti's. Roddi stared out of daydreaming or other personal distractions. Prime studied. And perhaps that was even more unnerving.

Rusti did not mind. She tugged on the coverlet, staring back into his soft blue optics. "Hi."

Well, no, she opened her mouth, lipped all the movements, but not so much as a whisper came out. She closed her eyes, embarrassed and a bit frustrated. The girl tried to clear her throat, finding it a little tender. "How long have you been there?" This time there was a squeak and not all the words came out, but Optimus understood her just fine.

"Seven hours."

She blinked. "Seven hours? have I been asleep that long?" Again, that's what she wanted to say. But all that came out of her throat was: "huh?"

"You've been comatose for two days."

Rusti choked and about jumped out of bed. Her eyes shot wide, "Comatose?" Using her larynx seemed to be the best medication. Her voice came back a little clearer, now. "What brought me back?"

Prime shook his head then cast his optics to the floor. "I don't know." his voice vibrated softly, and Rusti took it in like musical therapy. "We thought you were dead when Rodimus brought you in-that is, they did. I was . . . indisposed." His countenance now weighed down with guilt and sorrow. "Forgive me, Rusti. You've been through so much--"

Rusti shook her head, "It isn't your fault." She took her turn to study him. In spite of a polished metal surface and fresh paint, she could tell where extensive repair work was done. But then, Rusti had a 'trained eye'. "You know, I hate it when you blame yourself for every situation and circumstance-you keep tearing yourself up for things you didn't do and I wish you'd stop!" She turned away, biting back tears. "No one, nobody ever said you were God, you know? No one-" she sniffed, "-gave you permission to carry them, their responsibilities and obligations on your shoulders."

Memories of her kidnapping shot through her head. Rusti's heart raced and she tried again to swallow tears. "I thought you left me." and damned her voice that it cracked again! She sniffed and gratefully accepted a fresh tissue from him. "You were gone," she miserably added, "and you didn't even say good-bye. And I was so mad . . . " guilt wracked her inside and Rusti wished she could sit up and face him with more emotional self-control. But she could do nothing but lie there and carry on like a lost child.

Optimus very carefully set his hand next to her tiny wounded left hand. "I would not do that to you, Rusti. I swear." he bowed his head, his optics narrowing. "You've been through so much. I wish I could do something to make it better.

He did it again, blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault. Like a father carrying his child on his shoulders, it was Prime's nature to take someone else's pain. There was no use in trying to convince him otherwise. She sniffed, somehow feeling a bit better. "You . . . big oaf." It sounded so cheesy to her own ears, but Rusti did not know what else to say. She tried to wipe more tears, but her arm grew tired. "Guess I lost a lot of blood."

Prime's optics lowered again and this time, he also bowed his head, wordless. For someone who stood so tall and powerful, Optimus seemed very small now.

Rusti's eyes narrowed. For some reason, Cody came to mind. What was wrong with her? How could she have forgotten? Why had Prime not said anything about him? Fear gripped Rusti's heart and she tried to swallow a lump in her throat. Tears fringed her voice again: "Cody's gone, isn't he?"

The Autobot's hand turned into a fist. And it seemed an eternity before Prime answered. His words came with great effort. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Rusti."

Optimus knew what happened to Cody. Rusti was sure of it. But she didn't think she could handle the news. Whatever happened to Cody could not have been kind. Rusti's lips trembled and she had to look away, anywhere but in Optimus' pained optics. "He-he was so kind to me," her voice wavered. She swallowed and while she knew she did not have to say anything, Rusti needed to say it out loud. "He never tried anything dumb. He never assumed anything." She had to pause again, using the tissues and accepting a new pair from Optimus. "He was fun and fascinating . . ." she looked back at her friend, clamping her teeth over her lower lip, fighting to suppress tears. "Now that I look back, I see that he really loved me. He held me. He let me sleep on his shoulder when my head hurt so much my nose bled."

She batted her eyes and a tear fell over. "He loved me and never said so, never forced . . ." she sniffed and drew a shuddering breath. "It's unfair. Girls are dumb, you know? When it comes t' guys, I mean. They, they think a guy is sweet and thoughtful and is just being a gentleman. But they don't get it. So a guy gets all mad because she's so clueless. Just because he won't say those three stupid words. I don't know why girls have to be told, but they do. It's sorta a reality check, I guess. And he loved me and never said anything!" she broke into tears, unable to constrain herself. "I was too stupid to see it!"

Unable to lie face down, Rusti turned her face to the wall and cried her heart out. She tightly clutched the edge of the pillow and wished she could hide her face.

Optimus Prime laid his hand over his chest. He hurt for her. He picked up the tiny tissue box and plucked another tissue, waiting for her to turn and take it. "It will be very hard for a while, Rusti." he said softly. "You'll feel empty for a long time. But one day you'll wake and find the pain gone; something else will fill the void. I know it hurts."

She turned back, snatched a tissue and blew her nose. "It'll never be the same." she whispered. "I'll never love anyone the same. I'll never be the same."

"No." Prime agreed in kind. "You'll be stronger."

She glared at him. Then frowned. Who was she to be angry at his words? If anyone had lost friends and loved ones, it was Optimus Prime. But how would losing someone she loved make her stronger? Optimus Prime did not seem to take his own words into account. He had withdrawn from people. Roddi told her hundreds of stories about Autobots dying at the hands of the Decepticons. The death of one affected them all, but Optimus buried his feelings; sometimes not even bothering to grieve.

Perhaps there is a breaking point where a person could no longer risk loving anyone else, remaining on an impersonal level with everyone. And while Optimus was affectionate, always has been, he also kept his distance. They were his people, he was their leader, that settled it.

Except she.

Maybe Roddi.

Time to change the subject. She swallowed, finding her throat dry. "I . . . suppose I'll be going to school next week, huh, Optimus?"

Prime gazed at her silently at first and she found she could not read his expression. "I'm . . . considering placing you in tutoring for the rest of the year, Rusti." he answered softly.

Her face stretched with surprise. "Home study?"

He set the tissue box down and straightened. "You've been through too much to simply return to a normal life. I've . . . even considered sending you back to your parents-"

She nearly jumped out of bed, her dry eyes wide with fear. She half sat, too weak to literally jump. "No! Don't do this to me, Optimus! I'll be good!" she gasped, "Dad and Aunt Delphra would NEVER let me come back-" she watched him lift his hands in defense, "-I'd DIE!" Her voice cracked from strain.

"Let me finish." he answered calmly. "I'm considering sending you back to your parents to pack extra clothes."

Slowly Rusti lay back, "okay . . ."

"Rodimus insists I go on vacation for three weeks. He thinks I need a body guard to make sure I do no work while I'm gone." Prime seemed a bit sheepish; his hand passed over his head and he sighed. "Not that I could. He's already locked me out of the computer system."

Rusti suddenly understood what he was saying. Her tear-dried eyes widened in excitement. "You're going on vacation and you want me to accompany you?"

"If you think you can handle it. I thought about going to Australia, catch up on a few things with Jazz. Maybe visit Easter Island."

Breathless, her face brightened. She was nearly giddy with the idea of a real vacation, "I'd love to go!"

"Then it's settled." he concluded. "We'll leave in three days." he stood and picked up his empty flagon. "As for right now, you need sleep." he turned to the door, paused and glanced back. "Oh, um, the stuffed animal is from Ultra Magnus. But don't tell him I said that. He didn't want you to know. You know how he gets."

Rusti beamed with a grin. Ultra Magnus was all mush inside.

"Optimus?" Rusti called him back just before he left. She had one more thing to say. He gazed back with weary-ridden optics. She hesitated, uncertain of his reaction. He would probably act indifferent, unwilling to show how he felt. But Rusti needed to say it, no matter the reaction: "I love you." There. It was said. She settled under her covers, expecting nothing.

Prime lingered. It made him uncomfortable. Love was such a complex concept. Humans used the word for everything in their lives; often with such frivolity. They loved their children, but not like their sports or their possessions. But then the Humans were a species who did not live a life where every waking moment was spent under military discipline. Humans did not understand war like Transformers and so they could afford such flippancy. Love, for a Transformer, came with a heavy price: The eventuality of death by destruction. A Transformer could ill afford such emotional bonds. Yet in spite of the pain of the apprehension of death, many Autobots bonded.

Still, even Optimus Prime could not deny what he felt: "I love you, Rusti." his deep soft voice echoed tenderly through the silence of the room. "Dearly." he added.

With that, he closed the door and Rusti clutched her pillow tightly, a contented smile touched her face. She would sleep without evil dreams after all.

Two days later, Rusti greeted the sun, stepping onto her favorite balcony facing westward. Distant clouds sheltered the higher peaks of the Cascade mountain range from the late springtime sun.

She sat at a table and set a soda and her scrap book on the table's cool metal surface. Once again, she would leaf through the book and struggle to recall memories that evaded her like the cold shadows in a warm afternoon sun.

Rusti opened the scrap book and stared at news clippings. There were a few photographs on the next page with notes scratched out in colored inks. Letters from Dezi filled several other pages, letters describing birthday parties, a camping trip to Alturas, California and a ticket stub to an expensive art show.

Noise from the courtyard below caught the girl's attention and she peered over the walled rim. Rodimus, Sunstreaker, Springer, Drawback and Brainstorm tackled with the Dinobots in a dangerous game of football-dangerous because they're not supposed to be playing football anywhere but in the football field. Rusti assumed it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, most likely Roddi's idea.

She watched as Springer passed the titanium ball to Rodimus. The Autobot leader dodged a tackle by Grimlock only to get swept up by Swoop. He landed hard on Sludge and rode the Dinobot like a bull, making a mad run for the goal line.

Instead, Slag crossed their path, confusing the Dinobot brontosaur. Sludge turned right and headed for the nearby fountain.

Rusti grinned as Rodimus and Sludge ended neck-deep in cold water.

But her mirth did not last. Cody was gone. Eighteen months of her life had vanished without hope of ever regaining her memories. She wanted things to be the way they were before the Matrix contacted the virus, before Optimus Prime's illness.

Nothing would be the same now.

Rusti flipped through more pages in her scrap book, not even amused at the Dinobots' clumsy attempt to catch the football Roddi tossed to Brainstorm. The Headmaster fumbled and ended beneath Slag's weight.

Rusti reflected the unfairness of life. Why should other people be so happy and whole while her life had gone so completely wrong? Just how much time did Optimus and Rodimus have before the blocking chip failed? What about the other disease she and Cody uncovered in the library? Was there any hope of help at all?

Rusti had no answers to her own questions and it drove her mad realizing she was powerless to do anything about them. She slammed the scrapbook shut, shoved it away and crossed her arms. What use was it to recover the past when the future required more effort? The past was gone and no doctor or treatment could help her regain it. The future was too dark.

Still, she supposed, nothing was absolute. They were still alive. They survived, wounded, perhaps, but alive. Just today, Rusti thought it best to concentrate on where she was; out in the sun, in Fort Max.

Optimus promised he'd be nowhere but in the atrium, repairing damaged windows and his plants. Rodimus made certain all computer functions were locked. The situation was very funny. Neither Roddi nor Ultra Magnus wouldn't take no for answer. They were also the only people Prime would listen to (obey).

Rusti wished she could do something to help ease their suffering; put an end to their tormenting dreams or at least alleviate their terrible remorse. But they would have to work this out between themselves. Somehow they would have to find strength in each other.

How long before the delicate thread snapped? How much time before Optimus Prime indeed committed suicide? How much time did the Autobots have?

Rusti gazed again at the playful Autobot leader. Rodimus took a moment's rest. Injuries he acquired on the space station were not yet fully recovered.

He Touched her to acknowledge he knew she was watching. It dawned on Rusti: Here was Optimus Prime's strength. If only Rodimus could get past Prime's defenses, if only he could convince the heart-stricken Autobot leader that he was not alone in this struggle, that Rodimus was there for him.

But then, this was war. This was life. No promises could be made to say Rodimus himself would not die sooner or later, yet again, leaving Optimus alone.

Roddi caught the sadness of that thought from Rusti. He sent her a mental smile. _Not today, lady-friend. Not today. _

Rusti cast her eyes on the scrapbook. It was time to put it away and take each day as it came. She decided she could deal with that.

---------------------------------------

Optimus Prime traversed barren, dry valleys within the Matrix. Cracks in the ground bled. Dead trees stretched with twisted branches toward the sky, their weathered trunks resembled old worn faces. The cold dry air hurt his exostructure.

He treaded across a dry, cracked riverbed until he encountered a dead tree and a grave stone beside it. Kneeling before it, Optimus tried to read the epitaph. But the words and letters changed moment to moment. One sentence appeared, replaced by several words, replaced by a new paragraph, replaced again by a list. Unable to make out what it said, Prime merely cast his optics to the dusty ground. This was all that was left of the Matrix; a few memories and a great deal of turmoil. All that energy, all that life, gone.

Optimus heard Rodimus step up behind him. He half turned, meeting his friend with puzzlement.

Rodimus brushed all questions aside with a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter what it says." he meant the gravestone.

Prime glanced back at the stone. The words kept shifting and changing. The gravestone spoke but could not be heard.

"It does not matter." Rodimus insisted. He knelt next to Prime, taking his friend's hands in his. "We are all that matter, now."

Prime finally gave Rodimus his full attention, saying nothing.

He did not need to. Rodimus felt the very same uncertainty and turmoil. But unlike the Senior Prime, he had more resolve. "We are the beginning. You once said that all beginnings start with pain. Perhaps rather than allow this thing, this Virus to drive us mad, to separate us, we should let it bring us closer together. We share one another's soul. We have a relationship unlike any other, even in Cybertron's long history. And whatever that prophesy-the One who Lights the Darkest Hour-says, I won't believe it's meant just for me or just for you. It meant both of us."

Optimus merely sat there, listening. For a moment, Rodimus wasn't sure he was getting through. But then Prime had not retrieved his hands. He had not mentally pulled away. Rodimus dared to set his hands on Prime's arms: "I feel this too." he continued. "You're not alone in this anymore. That's what I'm here for. Optimus, I can't do this by myself. We have to reach out to one another. You said we should rely on one another, we need to learn to lean against one another." he shook his head. "But you keep pushing me out."

No answer. But Optimus shut his optics and bowed his head.

Rodimus sat on his knees and wrapped his arms about his friend. After a few minutes, Optimus followed, resting his arms across Roddi's back. Their souls Touched; one stabilized the other and both Autobot leaders finally found the mental and emotional strength they needed to move forward.

End

T.L. Arens

"The quiet . . . before the Storm . . ."


End file.
